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Sciences 
Corpomtion 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.V.  14580 

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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  at  btbliographiques 


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empreinte. 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m6thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1  2  3 

4  5  6 


t®^ 


Mills  Memorial  Library 

MCMaster  University 


THE 


STORV   OF  THE   NEW  PIUEST 


» 


CONCEPTION    BAY. 


By  ROBERT  LOWELL. 


MTiivov,  alXivov,  iiTri;  rd  6'  si  vixuro- 

Woe!  woe! 
But  right,  at  last,  though  slow. 


A  NEW  EDITION, 
WITK  ILLUSTJtATIONS  BY   DARLEY. 


IfJt 


VOLUME  I. 


NEW    YORK: 
E.    P.   BUTTON   AND   COMPANY, 

713  Bkoadway. 

1873. 


Batered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

Phillips,  Samvson  and  Oompant, 

in  the  Clark's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetta 


RIVEKSIDK,    CAHBRIDOE: 
STEREOTrPED  AND  PRINTED  BT  B.  0.  UOUaaiOH. 


One,  to  whom   I   owe  au    w»r    h„  ^ 

"wii  AH,  wiLL  He  take  this 

AT   MY   HAND,   THE   BEST    I    HAVE? 


August,  1857. 


Messrs.  Poillips,  Sampson  &  Co.,  in  1859,  were 
about  publishing  a  new  edition  of  The  Neav  Priest  in 
a  popular  form,  when  the  two  chief  partners  died,  and 
the  house  was  broken  up. 

The  plates,  being  the  author's  property,  have  since  lain 
untouched,  until  now  that  an  illustrated  edition  is  pro- 
posed;  when  certain  changes  have  been  made,  that  it 
may  be  easier  to  bind  the  book  in  one  volume. 


Oct.  1863. 


CONTENTS. 


OBAP. 

I. 

11 

iir. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 
VII. 

vni. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

xiir. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 
XXII. 


A  UARE  mrnuDER 

•  •  • 

MRS.    BARIIK    AND    MISS    DARE 

A    PRETTY   SCENE    AND    ITS    BREAKINO-UP  . 

A    WALK    AND    THE    END    OF    IT 

.    A   FEW   MOMENTS    OP    iwo    YOUNG   PEOPLE'S 
LIVES 

A   WRITTEN   ROCK,   AND   SOMETHING   MORE      . 

TRUE    WORDS   ARK    SOMETIMES    VERY    HEAVY 

SKIPPER   GEORGE'S   STORY 

A   MEETING       .  .  , 

SOME   GOSSIP   AND   SOME    REAL   LiFE 

TWO    MEET   AGAIN       . 

A   SAD    YOUNG    HEART     . 

A   GREAT   LOSS  .  .  • 

A   NEW   MAN 

TRACES    OF    THE    LOST 

SEARCHING   STILL  .  .  '  * 

WHICH    WAY  SUSPICION   LEADS       .       ' 

THE   DAY  FOR   REST        . 

SUSPECTED   PERSONS 

AN    OFFICIAL    EXAMINATION,     FROM     WHICH 

SOMETHING   APPEARS 
AN   OLD    SMUGGLER 

AN    INTERVIEW    OF    TWO     WHO    HAVE     MET 
BEFORE 


7 

14 
20 
32 

87 

41 
49 
57 
75 
84 
88 
97 

102 

114 

121 

136 

145 

152 

159 


167 
179 


189 


CONTENTS. 


XXIII.  TIIK   NKW   PRIK8T   AT   liAY-IIARDOR  . 

XXIV.  A    CALL   AT   A   NUNNKIIY  . 

XXV.    TIIK  MAOIKTIIATK  I>EAL8  WITH  OTHKR   BUS- 
1MCIOU8    I'KHSONS 
XXVI.    MK.    1IAN08    HAS   AN   INTKRVIEW   WITH   THE 
IIKAD   OF   THE   MISSION        . 
XXVII.    ANOTIIKU    UKLIC   FOUND    . 
XXVIIL     MU.    HANGS    A   NKOPMYTK 
XXIX.    MISS  dark's    KJftMCDITION  WITH    AN   ESCORT 
XXX.    ACROSS   THE   DARRENS 


FA)  IB 

101 
205 

219 

230 
241 
240 
262 
274 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER  I. 


A    UAKK    INrUUDKR. 

^HIRTY  years  ago,  or  longer,  one  bright  day  in 
August,  the  church  missionary,  the  Reverend  Ar- 
thur Wellon,  wa?  walking  down  Peterport,  with 
strong  step,  and  swinging  his  cane;  a  stoutly-built  Eng- 
Kshman,  of  good  height,  not  very  handsome,  but  open, 
kmdly,  mtelligent,  and    reverend-looking ;  in  dress  just 
grave  enough  and  just  enough  unlike  other  gentlemen  to 
mark  his  office  to  those  who  would  not  know  it  from  his 
face.     He  is  the  central  person,  though  not  the  chief 
actor,  m  our  story. 

He  was  a  frank   and   kindly    man  ;    straightforward, 
honest  and,  in  a  rather  homely  way,  a  little  humorous. 
He  had  seen   something  of  the  world,  in  living  thirty 
years,  and  to  good  purpose;    had  a  mind  large  enouc^h 
(because  it  opened  into  his  heart)  to  take  in  more  thin^-s 
than  the  mere  habits  of  his  order  or  his  social  rank ;  and 
while  he  loved,  heartily,  the  faith  and   services  of  his 
church,  he  had   that  common  sense  without  which  the 
Reformers  would  never  have  got  and  kept  our  Common 
l-rayer.     He  was  a  good  scholar,  too,  as  well  as  a  good 
parish  priest.  ^ 

This  was  the  man  then  that  had  just  left  his  house, 
fa  comely  white  one,  with  two  little  wings,)  and  was  walk 


^  THE   NEW   PRIEST. 

ing  down  the  harhor-rond,  breaking  forth,  now  and  then, 
when  the  way  wan  elear,  into  a  cheery  snatch  of  sacred 
(or  not  profane)  song. 

The  first  turn  in  the  road  brought  him  in  sight  of  two 
persons  walking  in  company  in  advance  of  him,— a  gentle- 
man of  about  his  own  age,  and  looking  like  a  clergyman, 
ftnd  a  tall,  large,  strongly-moulded  fisherman  of  some 
sixty  years.  The  former  seemed  to  be  listening,  rather 
than  talking,  while  his  companion  spoke  earnestly,  a3 
appeared  from  his  homely  gestures. 

On  the  hill-top,  near  lieachy  Cove,  (named  from  its 
strip  of  sand  and  shingle  edging  the  shore,)  they  stood 
still;  and  the  Minister,  who  waa  not  far  behind  them, 
could  scarcely  help  hearing  what  was  said.     The  fisher- 
man  still  spoke ;  his  voice  and  manner  having  the  gentle- 
ness and  modesty  almost  of  a  child.     One  arm  passed 
through  a  coil  of  small  rope ;   and  in  his  hand  he  held, 
with  a  carefulness  that  never  forsook  him,  a  bright-col- 
ored seaweed.     The  gentleman  listened  to  him  as  if  he 
had  the  honeyed  speech  of  Nestor.     It  was  some  story  of 
the  sea,  apparently,  that  he  was  telling,  or  commenting 
upon.  ** 

The  Minister  looked  curiously  toward  the  group,  as 
they  stood,  not  noticing  him  ;  and  then,  after  a  momentary 
hesitation,  went  across  a  little  open  green,  and  into  the 
enclosure  of  a  plain,  modest-looking  house,  about  which 
creepers  and  shrubs  and  flowers,  here  and  ♦here,  showed 
taste  and  will  more  than  common.  His  dog,  a  noble 
great  black  fellow,  "Epictetus,"  who  had  loitered  some- 
where upon  the  road,  came  to  his  master,  here,  and  waited 
at  his  side,  as  he  stood  before  the  door,  after  knocking. 

The  parting  words  of  the  stranger,  thanking  his  com- 
panion for  his  society  in  their  walk,  and  of  the  stout  fisher- 


A  RAHK  INTnUDKR. 


» 


man  turning  meekly  back  (ho  thanks,  came  through  thf 
Btill  air,  across  from  wh'u-e  i\wy  .stood. 

"  It  wa.s  very  good  of  'ee,  ,sir,"  .aid  the  latter,  «  to  come 
nlon;?  wi  •  me,"  and  hear  my  poor  talk.-I  wisii  'ee  a  very 
good  mornin,  sir,  an'  I  '11  airry  this  bit  of  a  thin.r  to  my 
maid,*  please  (iod.  O,,,,  o'  the  nighbors  «en'd  ft.  She 
makes  a  many  bright  things  o'  such." 

When  he  had  done  speaking,  his  strong  steps  were 
hoard  as  he  went  on  his  way,  alone;  for  the  whole  scene 
w«s  as  It  had  been  for  hours,  still  and  quiet,  as  if,  in  going 
^^  then- hshmg,  the  people  had  left  no  life  behind  them 
Ihere  had  been  scarce  a  moving  thing,  (if  the  eye  sou-ht 
one,)  save  a  ligh,  .-eek  fron.  a  chimney,  (a  fairer  thing,  as  it 
floated  over  the  poor  mnn's  dwelling,  ti.nn  ducal  or  royal 
»"|"ner,   and  a  h.ne  white  summer-eloud,  low  over  the  e«.  th; 
where  the  wind,  t.king  holiday  elsewhere,  left  it  to  itself. 
Imdu.g  that   Mrs.   IJarre,   Ibr  whom   he   asked,    had 
walked  down  ,he   harlM)r  with  Miss  Dare,  the  Minister 
went  forth  iigain,  toward  the  road. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  he  had  stood  with  the 
fisl.ennan,  the  stranger  was  still  standing,  now  gazin.r 
over  the  waler,  toward  the  hills  in  the  far  southwist;  a 
very  stnkmg  a..d  interesting  looking  person  he  was.  It 
was  impossible  for  the  Minister  to  pass  him  without  salu- 
^^.un,  rnul  the  dog  loitered.  The  stranger  returned  Mr. 
Wcllons  s.lent  greeting,  gracefully,  and  came  forward 

'  ion  were  going  down  :  may  I  walk  with  you  as  fur 
-  our  ways  lie  together  ?  [  am  going  to  '  the  Ha.k.side,' 
wherever  that  is,"  he  .said,  very  frankly. 

"I  know  every  sheep  and  goat  tra.k,"  answered  the 
Peterport  Parson  ;"  and  I  won't  scruple  to   make  you 
'••ee  of  the  place  for  the  pleasure  of  your  company  " 
J|  Ma,d  is  prououuced  my,e;  bay,  6ye  ;  p.av,  ,lye ,•  neighbor,  „,.. 


•-.*        r^ 


10 


THE  NEW  PEIEST. 


This  hospitable  speech  the  stranger  accepted  cordially. 

"That  fisherman,"  he  said,  after  they  had  walked  a 

little  while  together,  "has a  very  touching  wav  of  tellin- 

a  story,  and  draws  a  nioral  Avondeifully."         '         '       ° 

"  Yes,"  said  the  fisherman's  pastor,  "  G"or<re  Barbury's 

a  man  worth  seeing  and  hearing,  always." 

"  He  was  giving  me  an  account  of  the  wreck  of  one 
Jamos  Emerson,  which  you,  very  likely,  know  all  about : 
(I  can't  tel!  it  as  he  told  it  me,  but)  '  the  man  was  goin- 
to  run  his  boat  into  a  passage  between  a  reef  and  the 
shore,  where  nothing  could  save  him  scarcely  from  de. 
struotion;  all  his  worldly  wealth  was  in  her,  and  his  son; 
the  people  on  land  shouted  and  shn-ked  to  him  throu^^h 
the  gale,  that  he'd  be  lost  (and  he  knew  the  danger  Is 
well  as  they  did) ,;  suddenly  he  changed  his  mind  and 
went  about,  just  grazing  upon  the  very  edge  of  ruin,  and 
got  sate  off ;— then,  when  all  was  plain  sailing,  ran  his 
boat  upon  a  rock,  made  a  total  wreck  of  her  and  all  that 
was  in  her,  and  he  and  his  son  were  barely  rescued  and 
brought  to  life.'     After  telling  that,  with  the  simplest 
touches  of  language,  he  gave   me  his  moral,  in   this 
way  •   '  'Ee  sec,  sir,  'e  tempted  God,  agoun  out  o'  the 
plain,   right  w>;   an'  so,  when  'e'd  agot    back    to  the 
w'y,  agen,  an'  thowt  'twas  all  easy,  then  God  let  un  go 
down,   and   brought   un   up  again,  athout  e'er  a  thin<^ 
belonging  to  un  but  'e's  life  and  'e's  son's.'— That  moral 
was  ^vonderfully  drawn  ! " 

While  he  was  speaking  and  Mr.  Wellon  listenincr,  they 
had  stopped  in  their  walk.  As  tliey  moved  on"a-ain, 
the  lattct  said : —  " 

"  Ay,  the  people  all  count  him  more  than  a  common 
man.  He's  poor,  now,  and  hasn't  schooner  or  boat,  and 
yet  everybody  gives  him  his  title,  'Skipper  George,' as 
they  would  the  king." 


u 


A  RARE  INTRUDER.  .  -. 

His  companion  spoke  again,  earnestly  : 

"Fe-vmen  would  have  drawn  that  moral,  though  all 
Its  %visdom  is  only  seeing  simply;  indeed,  most  men 
would  never  have  drawn  any ;  but  undoubtedly,  Skipper 
George's  interpretation  is  the  true  one,  '  God  let  him  go 
down;  and  not  for  coming  back,  but  for  having  gone 
astray.— ^e  saved  Jm  life.  It  was  not  easy  to  draw  that 
moral :  it  would  have  been  easy  to  say  the  man  might 
better  have  kept  on,  while  he  was  about  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wellon,  "that  repentance,  coming 
across,  would  throw  common  minds  off  the  scent;  George 
Barbury  isn't  so  easily  turned  aside." 

The  stranger  continued,  with  the  same  earnestness  as 
before. 

"  It  was  the  Fate  of  the  old  Drama  ;  and  he  followed 
It  as  unerringly  as  the  Greek  tragedist.  It  needs  a  clear 
eye  to  see  how  it  comes  continually  into  our  lives." 

"  Skipper  George  would  never  think  of  any  Fate  but 
the  Will  of  God,"  said  his  pastor,  a  Uttle  drily,  on  his 
behalf. 

"  I  mean  no  other,"  said  his  companion.  The  Fate  of 
the  Tragedists-seen  and  interpreted  by  a  Christian-is 
b^iipper  George's  moral.  There  might  have  been  a  more 
tragical  il'ustration ;  but  the  rule  of  interpretation  is  the 
same.  Emerson's  wreck  was  a  special  providence ;  but 
who  will  try  to  wrench  apart  the  link  of  iron  that  this 
downright  reasoner  has  welded  between  it  and  the  wilful- 
ness that  went  before  ?  The  experience  of  paganism 
and  the  Revelation  of  God  speak  to  the  sama  purpose. 
Horace  s 

•  Raro  antecedontem  seelestum,  Deserui  t-Pcena  ' 

r/  f '.  ^'f  ""^'''^  ^°'^'   (^"  *^^  *^"g^'«»^  translation), 
Eva  ,haU  hunt  th^ -wicked  person,  to  overthrow  him; 


12 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


come  very  near  together.  To  see  the  illustration  clearly, 
in  a  special  case ;  to  assign  the  consequence,  as  in  this 
case,  to  its  true  antecedent— not  the  near,  but  the  remote 
— is  rare  wisdom  I " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  said  Mr.  Wellon,  "  only  I  keep  to  the  old 
terms:  'providence,'  'special  providence,'  'visitation,' 
and  so  on.  It's  good  that  Skipper  George  isn't  a  man  to 
be  jealous  of,  or  your  admiration  might  move  me." 

The  stranger  smiled.  As  there  was  often  to  be  noticed 
in  his  voice  something  like  an  habitual  sadness,  and  as 
there  lay  sadness,  or  something  very  like  it,  in  his  eye,  so 
his  smile  was  not  quite  without  it. 

Not  answering,  unless  by  the  smile,  he  asked, 

"  Is  his  daughter  like  him  ?  " 

"  She's  a  marvel ;  only,  one  who  knows  her  does  not 
marvel :  every  thing  seems  natural  and  easy  to  her.  I 
ought  to  inquu-e  whether  you've  any  designs  upon  the 
family  ?  ■' 

"  Not  of  proselyting.  Oh !  no  :  none  of  any  sort  what- 
ever. I  had  heard  of  them  from  one  wJio  did  not  like 
them,  and  now  I'm  correcting  the  impression." 

As  they  passed  the  church,  in  their  walk,  the  stranger- 
clergyman  bestowed  upon  it  a  sufficient  degree  of  polite 
attention  to  satisfy  all  reasonable  requirements  (for  a 
parson  with  his  church  is  like  a  sailor  with  his  ship)  ; 
and  they  went  on,  talking  together. 

Often,  as  the  conversation  grew  animated,  they  stood 
still,  and  sometimes  were  interrupted  by  a  passing  col- 
loquy bQtween  the  minister  and  members  of  his  flock. 
They  talked  of  many  things  and  lands  ;  and  the  stranger's 
language  made  the  readiest  and  most  fitting  dress  for  his 
thoughts.  If  he  spoke  of  woods, — such  as  bristle  this 
land,  or  overhang  the  sultry  tropics,— his  words  seemed 


A  RARE  INTRUDER. 


13 


to  rustle  with  leaves,  or  to  smell  of  the  freshness  of  the 
forest,  or  to  flicker  in  light,  and  fleck  the  earth  with  glow- 
ing shade.      The    waves   swelled  .  and   sparkled   in   his 
speech,  and  there  was  sucli  a  wealth  of  illustration,  that 
the  figures  with  which  he  set  off  what  was  thought  and 
spoken  of  seemed  to  light  down  in  bright  plumage  to  his 
hand  continually,  as  he  wanted  them.    Imagination,  which 
is  the  power  of  embodying  things  of  spirit,  and  spiritual- 
izing and  giving  life  to  material  things,  he  was  full  of. 
The  slight  sadness,  and  a  slight  now-and-then  withdrawal 
of  manner,  implied  that  he  was  not  altogether  taken  up 
in  what  he  spoke  or  heard. 

They  passed,  without  remembering,  the  first  and  chief 
path  leading  to  the  Backside,  and  then,  lower  down,  the 
second ;  and,  when  they  recalled  the  oversight,  the  Minis- 
ter turned  back  with  his  comi)anion  and  put  him  in  the 
best  way,  and  they  parted  with  mutual  pleasant  words. 
Epictetus  put  himself  forward  for  a  share  in  this  demon- 
stration, and  was  caressed  in  turn. 

"This. old  fellow  is  friendly,"  said  his  new  acquaint- 
ance;  «perhai)s  we  shall  know  one  another  better,  some 
day," 


ir 


u 


THE  NEW  PBIEST. 


CHAPTER  II.  ^ 

MRS.    BARRi:    AND    MISS    FANNY   DARE. 

>^HE  Minister,  after  leaving  his  companion,  walked 
Hhjj   fast;  but  he  had  walked  for  half  a  mile  down  the 

.t  7..  '''"'^'"°  ''""^^  ^'^'^''^  ^^^  fluttering  garments  of 
the  ladies  were  in  sight,  as  they  lingered  for  the  loiter- 
ings  of  a  little  girl.  He  overtook  them  at  a  place  where 
the  hill  IS  high,  at  one  side  of  the  way,  an-l  goes  down 
on  the  other,  steep  and  broken,  to  the  water ;  and  where' 
at  every  turn,  there  is  a  new  and  pretty  outlook  upon  the' 
harbor,,  or  the  bay,  or  the  picturesque  coves  alon-  the 
road.  ° 

Mrs.  Barr^  first  heard  his  footsteps,  and  turned  round 
with  a  nervous  haste.  Sadness,  and  thought,  and  strength, 
and  womanly  gentleness,  mingled  in  her  great  dark  eyes, 
and  pale  face,  and  made  her  very  striking  and  interesting 
m  appearance— an  effect  which  was  increased  by  her 
more  than  common  height.  No  one,  almost,  could  look 
once  upon  her,  and  be  satisfied  with  looking  once. 

Miss  Fanny  Dare  was  both  handsome  Ind  elegant— 
rather  paler  than  the  standard  of  English  beauty,  but  a 
fit  subject  for  one  of  those  French  '^  Etudes  ^  deux  cray. 
ons,"  if  it  could  only  have  done  justice  to  the  life  of  her 
fine  features  and  glancing  eye,  and  wavy  chestnut  hair. 
Little  Mary  Barre,  a  sweet  child,  threw  her  arm,  like 


MRS.   BARBf)  AND  MISS  FANNY  DARE.  15 

a  yoke  around  the  great  dog',  neck,  where  it  was  almost 
hidden  in  the  long  black  locks. 

The  Minister,  like  one  used  t'o  feel  with  others,  spoke  to 
^le  w  do.,ed  Mrs.  Barre  softl,  and  slowly,  and  mostly'  in  he 
Lord  «  own  words,  of  her  fair  boy,  lately  dead,  and  of  her 

Mil'  r  I'T^  '-"' ""'  ''  ^'^  ''^P«  ^^^^  -  -  Christ 
Mks    Dare  led  her  two  livelier  companions  on,  leavin. 

the  Mmister  and  Mrs.  liarre  to  walk  more  sWly ;  and 
the  gentle  wmd  on  shore,  «nd  the  silent  little  waves  in 
the  water,  gomg  the  same  way,  seemed  bearing  them 
company  The  child's  voice  was  the  only  sound  that 
went  forth  freely  into  the  wide  air. 

As  the  Minister  came  near  with  Mrs.  Barre,  Miss 
Dare  invued  them  by  a  single  gesture,  to  look  from  the 
spot  where  she  had  been  standing. 

The  place  was  like  a  balcony ;  in  front  one  could  see 
down  the  shore  of  the  harbor  along  the  sea-face  of  Whit- 
monday  Hill,  anJ  over  more  than  one  little  settlement- 
and  out  m  the  bay  to  Belle-Isle  and  the  South  Shore  and 
down  towards  Cape  St.  Francis.  It  was  to  a  ne'aier 
prospect  that  she  pointed. 

"Isn't  she  a  dear  thing?"  she  asked,  after  allowinc. 
them  a  moment  to  see  the  sight,  which,  as  it  has  to  d^ 
with  our  story,  our  reader  shall  see,  by-and-by 

"  Lucy  Barbury  and  little  Janie!"  said  the  Minister 
looking  genially  down.  "Yes;  if  any  thing  can  mtke 
good  Skipper  George's  loss,  his  daughter  may."    Mrs! 

"oMt'lvVn    'r  '''  "''"'"'  *^^^^""S  '^^y  eagerly, 
01    t  will  break  up  my  scene  ;  but  musn't  we  get  the 

1  want  her  off  my  hands,  before  she  knows  more  than  I 


16 


THE  NEW  PBLEST. 


do.  As  for  the  schoolmaster  and  mistress,  poor  things,  1 
fancy  they  look  upon  her  performances  in  learning  much 
as  the  hen  r'id  upon  the  duck's  taking  to  the  water,  when 
she  was  showing  him  how  to  walk." 

"I  should  be  very  glad  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Wellon,  "when 
she's  old  enough." 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Wellon ;  her  head's  old  enough  inside,  if 
not  outside ;  and  what  are  you  to  do  with  her  in  two  or 
three  years'  waiting?  Besides,  1  want  to  see  it,  audi 
probably  shan't  be  here  by  that  time."  (A  graver  ex- 
pression came  near  occupying  her  face  at  these  words. 
She  kept  it  out,  and  went  on  speaking.)  "  You  must  put 
the  Smallgroves  into  the  Newfoundland  Society's  school 
at  Indian  Point,  and  we'll  support  our  own  here,  and  she 
shall  teach  it."     The  Minister  smiled. 

"  He  V  would  she  take  on  the  gravity  and  authority  of 
it?"  said  he. 

"  Admirably ;  I've  seen  her  at  it.  I  caught  her,  one 
day,  with  her  singing  class,  out  behind  the  school-house, 
on  that  stony  ground;  about  twenty  children,  of  all 
sizes,  so  big,  and  so  big,  and  so  big,"  (graduating,  with 
her  hand,  in  the  air,)  «  practising  just  like  so  many  little 
regimental  drummer-boys,  but  all  with  their  hands  behind 
them.  Lucy's  back  was  towards  me,  and  of  course  the 
scholars'  faces ;  and  so  forty  eyes  swung  riglit  round 
towards  me,  and  one  little  body  wriggled,  and  an  older 
girl  simpered,  and  Lucy  knew  that  there  must  be  a 
looker-on;  but,  like  .  little  disciplinarian,  she  brought 
them  all  straight  with  a  motion  or  twoV  her  hand,  and 
then  turned  romid  and  blushed  all  over  at  my  formidable 
presence,  as*  if  it  had  been  his  Reverence,  the  Parson,  or 
her  Majesty,  the  Queen." 

"  Well,  we  must  see  what  we  can  do  about  it,"  said  the 


MRS.  BARRii  AND  MISS  FANNY  DARE.  17 

Parson,  looking  down  again  over  the  cliff.     «  And  what's 
this  about  young  Ursion  ?  " 

"And  what  makes  you  think  of  youn..  Urston  !,".« 
now.  Mr.  WeHon?"  asked  Miss  Dare,  reflect  g^^C 
*e  sn,Je  w..h  which  the  Minister  had  uttered  h  s  <,„^ 

ttu'ed:-'"'  "'  """"^  '■'■'  "»  "»'»■-■•  *«<=»■>- 

fi.r  .w' t'  ""  ^'"''''  P™^**'  "'  B»y^Harbor,  have  a 
fency  that  Luey  s  an  emissary  of  the  Chureh,  ^ssuilU,! 
Popery  m  one  of  its  weak  point,,-the  heart  of  heyo„„: 
candidate  for  the  pHesthood-I  don't  speak  by  a  , ho  Ay  » 
she  added,  "  I  don't  think  it  ever  came  iu.o  hfr  hea^"  '^' 
Assailmg  Popery,  in  his  pereon  ?-Nor  I !  •'  answered 
the  Parson  sententiously,  and  with  his  cane  unsettlinTa 

r"  T'  '"""'  -"'^''.'Jo™  *e  precipice  atd  ^ok 
a  new  place  on  a  patch  of  g,^en  earth  below.  L  °,le 
Mary  was  cautioning  her  four-footed  friend  not  to  fall  over 

ana  watched  the  fallmg  stone  to  the  bottom. 

«No;   nor  assailing  James  Urston  i "  said  Miss  Dare 
srnihng  agam ,  taking,  at  the  same  Ume,  the  child's  ha^d 

"  we"ii7f";  ?'  r'^™  '"^°  '■""'"'•  - "»  ~d!- 

certa  nl;  ,-though  the  head  is  not  the  only  womanly  o" 
gan  that  plot^  I  believe.-But  seriously,  I  h'lpe  that  girl's 
happtness  wdl  never  be  involved  with  Ly  of 'them  very 
seldom  any  good  comes  of  it.« .  '     ^ 

iwssible  that  h.s  happiness  could  be  involved  or  as  if  it 

fXw '"' Ttt  """'™"^-'  "'■'^  ^' '» ^-  ^«>" --8 

tellow,    said  the  young  lady.  ** 

o  I^^"^  ^  T"  '^''^'  ^^''  ^^*  °°^^  *  ^«»an  CathoUc,  but 
a  candidate  for  the  pricsthtidd."  ' 

VOL.  I.  o 


Id 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"No!  I'm  told  the  complaint  ia,  that  he's  given  up  aU 
thoughts  of  the  priesthood."  ^ 

« That  leaves  him  a  Roman   Catholic,"  then  said  th^ 
JJlmistor,  like  a  mathematician. 

niif  Dare.  """"'"  ^'''''''  """  ''  '""^^^^^'"  ^^J<^^"«^ 
"In  a  case  of  that  sort  it  must  be  made  sure,  before- 
hand ;-.,f  there  ^.  any  such  case,»-he  answered. 

to  tr°  ^r  """''"^f  '''''•  ^'"''^'^  •^^^^  *^^-  -«-"tion 
to  hei.     She  was  still  standing  apart,  as  if  to  give  free- 

dom  to  the  conversation,  in  which  she  took  no  share;  but 
he  looked  mucli  agitated.-Miss  Dare  proposed  to  her 
that  they  should  go  home ;  but  she  declined.     Her  friend 
turned  to  a  new  subject. 

"Have  you  heard  of  the  American  that  intends  setting 

himself  up  m  Peterport?"  she  asked  of  the  Minister      ^ 

No,  I  haven  t ; »  answered  Mr.  Wellon,  again  lookin.. 

ca"" '^^  '''''''  ^"'  '"^^  ^^^^  ^^^  --••  "-  what 

I  tlink  'h^";  ""  ."!^''^^""°"^  eharacter,-chiefly  as  a  trader, 
I  thmk,  but  w.th  a  magic  lantern,  or  some  such  thing,  in 
reserve,  to  turn  lecturer  with,  on  occasion." 

"No;  I  hadn't  heard  of  him;   but  I'm  not  sure  that  I 
haven  t  escorted  in  another  new-comer  that  bodes  les 
good.     You  know  we're  to  have  a  Romish  priest  her " 
an'd  v"     ,?f  ^^-"  with  a  clergyman  of  some  Tort,' 

t,   but  I  can  t  thmk  what  else  he  is.     He  reminded  me, 
too,  of  some  one ;  I  can't  think  whom." 

"  What  soi-t  of  person  is  he,^Mr.  Wellon?  I  nev^r  saw 
one  of  his  kind,"  said  Miss  Dai-e. 

"Very  handsome;  very  elegant;  very  interesting :  with 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  tongues  I  ever  heard.-I  shall 


MBS.  BAEB6  AND  MISS  FANNY  DARE.  j, 

t7L'°"V'-  "'J,  '"'''  ■■-"P'^'^y  "">"  ""mier.  of  U 
tL/^lZy^"'^"'  """"'  •■»  ^"'-   <^'^°'^-     eC 

Debl?.  "  '■'  '°'"  ""'  ^"-  B<--^'-"thati«  Father 

Jhe  was  apparently  endeavouring  to  keep  down  a  very 
■strong  excitement.  f      "u  »  very 

Her  two  companions  turned  in  surprise;  Fanny  Dare's 
''f«  bemg  just  on  the  point  of  speaking.  ^        ' ' 

„  Y.    i  °°  ^'"' ''"°''  ''™  ^"  '^ked  the  Minister. 

fore  ehhir  1", '"    ~^'''  ™'  ^""^  ■""«'"  "S"«'«d.    Be- 
tore  euher  of  her  companions  spoke,  she  added,  "We're 

near^  related,  bu,  religion  has  sepa;ated  us.'' 

eo„;    ,".'?"■  ""^  *^'*  """-^  ""y- '"  *eir  minds,  have 

rX"'!;:!:™  ■"'  ^'"•'"™-''  P--     ^rs.  Barr. 

lea'™.  Tno'tl^  ""7^'  ''''"™'"  ^"^  ^'''  "'  haven'. 

schoolmg.      She  called  her  child  to  her,  and  hurriedlv 
took  leave.    Miss  Dare  did  not  stay.  ""^wHy 

,h7'l°u'"'  "'"'  ™'^"^  "P  ""=  '»^.  ™i*  little  Marv 
the  eh,Id  persuading  her  shaggy  friend  to  go  a  few  stl' 
m  her  company.    Mr.  Wellon  continued  his  wa  k     and 
fto  dog,  shpping  his  head  out  from  under  Ma^^'a^ 
turned  and  trotted  dignifiedly  after  his  master^  ' 


20 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER   m. 

A   PRETTY   SCENE   AND    ITS    BREAKINO-UP. 

)HIS  Whitmonday  Hill,  in  Peterport,  of  which 
mention  was  made  in  the  last  chapter,  is,  on  its 
travelled  face,  steep  enough  for  a  practised  beast 
(if  there  were  such  in  Peterport)  to  slide  do\vn,  and  on  the 
water  side,  stands  up  three  hundred  feet  and  more  of  al- 
most sheer  precipice— gravel,  and  rock,  and  patches  of 
dry  grass.  On  that  side,  at  the  bottom,  it  has  an  edging 
of  rounded  detached  rocks,  with  here  and  there  among 
them  a  bit  of  grave!  that  has  fallen  down  and  lodged" 
This  edging  stretches  along  as  debatable  ground  between 
the  hill  and  the  sea,  to  Daughter's  Dock,  (the  little  cove 
where  a  "Seventh  Daughter"  lives,)  and,  when  the  water 
is  high,  is  plashed  and  played  with  by  the  waves,  as  on  this 
summer's  afternoon  on  which  we  bring  the  reader  to  it. 

With  a  fine  breeze  in  froh^  the  eastward,  and  the  bright 
sun  shining  from  half  way  down  the  sky,  the  waters  came 
in  glad  crowds,  up  the  harbor,  and  ran  races  along  the 
cliffs.  Here  and  there  a  little  in-coming  sail  was  rising 
and  falling  smoothly  and  silently,  as  the  loaded  pun't 
floated  before  the  wind. 

The  scene,  to  a  sympathetic  eye,  was  a  pretty  one  of 
home  life ;  but  the  prettiest  part  of  it  was  on  the  water- 
edge  of  Whitmonday  HiU.     At  the  upper  end  of  it 


A  PRETTY  SCENE  AND  ITS  BREAKING-UP.        21 

(speaking  harbor-wise,  and  meaning  towards  the  inner  paH 
of  the  harbor)  stood  a  little  stage-a  rude  house  for  head- 
ing  and  splitting  and  salting  fi.h-whose  open  doorway 
showed   an   inviting  shade,  of  which   the   moral   effert 
was  heightened  by  the  s;ylvan  nature  of  the  house  itself, 
made  up  as  it  was  of  boughs  of  fir,  though  withered  and 
red     A  fisherman  and  his  wife  had  just  taken  in  the 
catch  of  fish  from  a  punt  at  the  stage's  ladder,  and  a 
pre  ty  g,r|,  of  some  seventeen  years,  was  to-ving  the  uu- 
loaded  bout  along  beside  the  hill,  by  a  rope  laid  over  her 
shoulder,  while  a  little  thing  of  four  or  five  years  old,  on 
board,  was  tugging  with  an  oar  at  the  stern,  to  keep  the 
boat  s  head  off  shore. 

The  older  girl  was  one  whose  beauty  is  not  of  any 
classic  kmd,  and  yet  is  beauty,  being  of  a  young  life, 
healthy  and  strong,  but  quiet  and  deep,  to  which  features 
and  form  give  thorough  expression  and  obedience.     She 
had    a    swelling,   springy   shape,   dark,   glancing    eyes, 
cheeks  glowing  with  quick  blood,  (the  figure  and  glance 
ana  glowmg  cheek  all  at  their  best  with  exercise,)  while 
masses  of  jetty  hair  were  lifted  and  let  fall  by  the  wind 
from  below  the  cap,  which  she  wore  like  all  girls  in  her 
country.     Her  dres3  was  different  from  the  common  only 
m  the  tastefulness  that  belongs  to  such  a  person,  and  had 
now  a  grace  more  than  ever,  as  it  waved  and  fluttered  in 
the-wmd  and  partook  of  the  life  of  the  wearer.     She 
wore  a  frock  .f  dark  blue,  caught  up  a  little  in  front,  and 
showmg  a  wlHte  woollen  petticoat;  a  kerchief  of  pretty 
colors  was  fed  very  becomingly  over  her  bosom,  and  a 
bngh    red  nbbon  along  the  front  of  her  cap  lay  among 
her  black  hair.     Her  shoes  and  stockings  were  rolled  up 
m  her  apron,  while  her  blue-veined  feet-not  C'^Z 
small,  but  smooth  and  well-shaped-elung  to  the  uneven 


n 


J ! 


THK  NKW   I'KIEST. 


walkc.l  aKannr  ,1k,  wind  a.ul  .pnu..  r,,„a  ono  rock  to 

Uu^latlo  w«vo.s  splash.,  up.     On.  all,  borlUiu.     :; 
fl«.M-c    was  u  grace  of  innooont,  modest  nmi<le„hood. 
^o  H„g  ,,,.Id  1,„  pn.„ier  or  more   pictunvsquo   ,ha„ 

^k,    .d  r  0  .,lgo  of  rho  water  wi.l.  the  lightness  of  onJ 
ot    hosehtne  heaeh  binis,  that,  with  a  shadow  and  aZ 

nmly    follows   nn.l   retreats    from    the    retreating    and 

unen.g  waves  ;  and  the  little  navigator,  towards  whom 

er  sister  eonnnnally  turned,  luul  her  plump  little  legs,  in 

Ir'trt  ^i"'""  •^''^•''"^'^'  ""•'  ''^'-  -""-'-^  ^'-^  - 

apart  to  keep  her  balanee,  while  her  head  was  tightly 

wont  round  her  neek  and  down  the  back  of  her  ser^o 
gon..,  so  that  one  eould  not  but  sn.ilo  at  her  and  l^er 

r         /^V"'.':'""''  ''"  ^••■'^"'^•'''  '^"^^  '«•'  l""g^'r  intervals 
she  worked  wuh  all  earnest  gravity  in  silene: 

Ihere  was  another  beauty  about  these  girls  to  those 
who  knew  then.,  as  will  appear  in  its  time. 

Splosh !  went  the  water  against  the  bow,  spattering 
every   tnng,  a.ul  among  other  things,  the    little  white- 
capped  head  and  silk  kerehief  and  serge  gown  of  the 
seuller  at  the  stern.     Anon  a  wave  came  up  fro.    No- 
noath  the  keel,  and,  thrusting  a  sudden  shoulder  nn' 
the  blade  of  her  oar,  would  lift  it  up  o  U  of  the  scuU-  nolo 
in  sp.te  of  her,  and  be  off.     Then  she  would  grasp  her 
weapon  womanfully,  and  get  it  under  her  arm,  and  lay  it 
labone.sly  into  its  place  again.     In  England  one  may 
see  the  tuthcr's  horse  going  to  stable  with  a  voung  child 
on  Its  ,r:.c.'  and  another  walking  beside.    Here  they  were 


k  ;!ii 


A   PRETTY  SCENE  AND  ITS   UREAKINQ-UP.        23 

taking  the  punt  to  u  snug  \)\.  ;o,  where  she  wm  to  be 
hauled  up  Cor  the  ni^'lit. 

"I'ull!     Puiii 
For  u  good  cup-full 
Out  of  tlio  grout  doop  bou,  Oh  I  " 

crird  the  maiden  in  a  mellow,  musical  voice,  (evidently 
for  tin  little  one,  for  hIio  herself  had  her  own  thoughts, 
no  doubt ;)  and  as  the  great  deep  sea  illustrated  the  song,' 
practically,  the  latter  repeated,  laughing,  (with  a  some- 
what staid  and  moderate  merriment,)  and  in  the  broken 
speech  of  a  child,  working  very  hard, 

"  Oh !  whut  a  good  cup-full 
Out  of  'u  n'eiit  deep  hooo!  " 

and  she  was  very  near  losing  her  oar  again. 

As  they  came  on  in  this  way,  the  elder  sister  helpin'r 
and  sharing  the  childs  laborious  frolic, and  at  the  moment 
looking  back,  a  dark,  winged  thing  flew  across  the  path. 

"Oh!  my  s'awl,  Lucy!"  exclaimed  the  little  one  in  a 
hopeless  voice,  but  tugging,  nevertheless,  at  her  oar, 
while  she  looked  up  sadly  to  where  the  black  kerchief 
with  the  silk  fringe  which  she  claimed  as  a  shawl  had 
been  whirled  by  the  wind,  and  had  caught  and  fastened 
upon  the  prickly  leaves  of  a  juniper  bush,  that  alone  of 
all  trees  occupied  the  steep. 

"  My  pooty  s'awl  you  gave  me !  »  she  cried  a-ain. 
workmg  harder  than  ever  at  the  oar. 

"I'm  sorry,  Janie,"  said  her  sister ;  «  we'll  get  it  a-ain, 
1  thmk  ; "  but  as  they  looked  up,  the  hill  was  a  sheer  sreep. 
and  the  gravel  very  loose. 

Poor  little  Janie,  with  her  distracted  thoughts,  and 
without  the  draught  of  the  rope,  which  Lucy  held  slack- 


24 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


.1:!!; 


ened  as  she  lingered  over  the  mishap,  could  not  keep  the 
boat  o^  and  it  came  ashore.  The  elder  sister  .ame  up 
to  comfort  her.  ^ 

"  Janie,  shall  1  shove  you  out  again  ?  »  she  asked,  «  or 
Shall  I  jump  m  and  scul!  you  round  ?  " 

Before  the  little  girl  could  answe: ,  the  scene  which 
they  had  had  so  much  to  themselves  was  broken  in  upon 
Look  out,  man !  "  was  shouted  in  a  sharp,  quick  tone* 
from  above. 

"Why,  James!"  exclaimed  Lucy,  looking  up  the 
loose-gravelled  precipice.  There  stood,  at  the  moment, 
ar  up,  a  young  man  poised  upon  it,  while  an  older  one 
leaned  over  the  upper  edge.  The  loose  gravel  came  rat- 
thngdown  to  the  pathway  of  rocks  over  which  the  maiden 
nad  been  walkin"-, 

"Jump  wide,  if  you  must !  »  the  man  at  the  top  called 
out  agam  in  the  clear,  quick  way  of  men  accustomed  to 
sJu])board  work. 

In  an  instant  the  eldr  sister  shoved  the  boat  forth 
toward  the  clear  water,  and  sprang  into  it,  leaving  Jania's 
oar,  which  had  floated  away;  got  the  other  into  the  scull- 
hole,  and  worked  the  punt  out  from  the  shore. 

The  waves  came  playing,  up  to  the  rocks  that  -d'red 
the  precipice's  foot,  waiting  for  the  young  man  who  had 
no  way  to  go  but  downward ;  and  who,  though  we  have 
been  long,  had  not  been  able  to  stand  still  an  instant. 
^  Down  he  came,  like  an  avalanche ;  the  cheaty  gravel 
givmg  way  from  his  feet;  all  the  on-lookers  breathless, 
above  and  below ;  the  cold  waves  frolicking  on  the  sur- 
face  of  the  deep  sea;-but  the  young  man  did  not  give 
himself  up  to  the  usual  fortune  of  heroines  or  heroes. 

With  a  strong  will  he  conquered  what  could  almost  be 
caUed  a  fall,  (so  steep  was  the  precipice  down  which  he 


A  PRETTY  SCENE  AND  ITS  BREAKING-UP.        25 

came,)  and  controlled  it  as  if  he  had  been  winged.  He 
went  down  aslant,  the  gravel  rattling  down  at  every 
sbght  touch  of  his  foot  on  the  face  of  the  steep,  and  ere 
one  could  tell  how,  he  was  three  hundred  yards  away,  at 
the  edge  of  the  water  on  the  little  beach  beyond  the  great 
hill.  Before  he  reached  the  rocks  at  the  further  end  he 
had  checked  himself,  and  not  even  the  shallow  waters  on 
the  sand  had  so  much  as  touched  his  feet. 

"  Well  done ! »  said  the  man-a  fisherman  very  shab- 
bily  dressed-who  was  still  standing  at  the  top  against  the 
sky.     He  saw  the  danger  at  an  end,  and  then,  turning 
went  away.     Now,  therefore,  the  scene  without  the  dan- 
ger  had  only  beauty  in  it.     The  waves  ran  away  from 
the  wmd,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight ;  a  little  sail  was  flit- 
ting over   the   farther  water;    and  the   maiden,  whose 
glancmg  eye  had  followed  the  young  man's  giddy  run 
had  a  new  color  in  her  cheek.     She  had  waited  amonc^ 
the  crowd  of  mischievous  waves  at  a  few  fathoms'  length 
from  the  shore,  and  now  that  it  was  clear  that  he  needed 
no  help,  she  turned  again  her  little  vessel  loward  the 
land     Midway  to  the  rocks  floated  a  straw  hat,  half-sunk, 
which  the  wind  had  snatched  from  the  young  man's  head 
as  he  came  down,  and  thrown  there. 

"  Min'ter's  dog ! "  cried  little  Janie,  attracted  now  by  the 
approach  of  the  great  black  fellow  panting  over  the  wave- 
tops,  his  long  black  hair  floating  wide.  The  young  man 
who  had  just  taken  the  wondrous  flight  had  now  seated 
himself,  flushed  and  panting,  on  one  of  the  rocks'.  As 
the  dog  neared  the  hat,  Lucy  was  too  quick  for  him,  and 
drew  It,  dripping,  iiuo  the  boat. 

"I'll  leave  the  oar  for  him,"  she  said;  and  the  brave 
brute,  having  turned  up  a  kindly  face  to  her,  made  fpr  the 
floating  oar,  and,  seizing  it  by  the  hand-part,  bore  up 


I:  !'H 


26 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


with  it  against  both  wind  and  tide  toward  the  little  beach. 
That  was  the  place,  also,  of  the  punt's  destination,  toward 
which  it  was  now  urged  gracefully  by  the  maiden  \/ho 
stood  sideways  in  it,  as  men  stand  at  sculling,  and  looked 
forward  with  bright  eye  and  lips  apart  and  flowing  hair. 

A  company  of  neighbors  had  gathered  hastily  at  the 
beach,  four  or  five  in  number,  and  near  them  stood  the 
Minister  ;  and  in  all  faces  were  excitement  and  curiosity. 
Before  her  boat  touched  the  sand,  Lucy  seated  herself 
upon  a  thwart  and  modestly  put  on  her  shoes.  The  per- 
former of  the  late  feat  still  sat  apart,  getting  his  breath 


agam. 


"  I  don't  see  the  man  that  staid  at  the  top  of  the  hill," 
said  the  Minister. 

"  'Twas  Willum  Ladford,  sir ;  'e  've  gone  away,  see- 
munly.  'Ee  know  'e's  very  quite,  and  keeps  to  'isself, 
mostly,"  answered  one  of  the  women  who  were  eagerly 
waiting  for  the  explanation  of  the  strange  things  that 
they  had  just  seen. 

"  Did  'e  push  lin  off,  do  'ee  think.  Prude  ?  "  inquired 
one  of  the  most  eajjer. 

"  Oh,  no !  what  would  'e  push  un  for  ?  Will  Ladford's 
too  sober  for  pl'y,  an  'e's  too  paceable  for  mischief." 

The  short  colloquy  was  desei-ted  hurriedly,  as  the  boat 
came  sliding  up  the  beach,  and  its  fair  sailor  leaped 
blushing  from  its  gunwale  to  the  sand.  Lucy,  first  curt- 
seying to  the  Minister,  was  bearing  tlie  trophy  rescued 
from  the  water,  to  its  owner,  when  little  Janie  was  in- 
stantly beset  by  two  or  three  of  the  most  enthusiastic 
inquirers  after  truth,  who  questioned  her,  half  aside,  and 
half  with  a  view  to  being  overheard. 

"Where  did  Mr.  Urston  come  from,  Janie?"— "What 
was  'e  doun  there,  fust  goun  off? "— "  What  made  un  go 


A  PRETTr  SCENE  AND  ITS   BREAKING-UP.        27 

down?"  were  the  assaults  of  three  several  female  miJds 
at  the  subject.     Little  Janie  was  bewildered 
«He  couldn't  keep  his  footing,"  said  Lucj,  hearing 

ttian  the  questioners  m  eht  have  hid  •     c  «• 

that  perhaps  did  not  occur  to  her  ~tance 

ovJr^sX' '  sVd  '  '"f  \''  "^^'  ^"'  ^^^^"^  ^^-"^1- 
over,  IS  n  e       said  one  of  the  questioners,  in  a  kind  of 

s^e.speculat.on,  with  a  good-natured  laugh  and  ,le^l 
"  But  I  don't  think  he  tumbled  over  the  top,"  ventured 

1.2  ,    /      ^^  '"  ^  ^'^^""^y  ^^«««  ^idth  relched 

measure,  and  kmdly  wished  to  protect  his  reputation  from 
a  charge  of  such  preposterous  clumsiness. 

Ihe  questioner  had  been  longer  in  the  world  than  our 

"Oh  !  'e  was  n'  walkin  on  the  road,  was  'e?  but  pleas- 

o  the  h,ll,  as  loose  and  gravelly  as  a  freshly-made  glacis 
but  steeper  than  a  Dutch  m,f.  The  allusion  threw  ^e 
company  of  „„™en  (who  followed,  at  the  same  Time  the 
d.rcct,on  of  her  eyes)  into  a  sudden  laugh;  Lu TalsT 
aughed  innocently,  and  looked  abashed,  and  the  mSs 

xnis  Jast  effect  of  her  wit  was  not  unobserved  bv  th. 

*  saw. 


28 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


a  fish  e    ;d  ?     Could  n'  'ave  abin  he  know'd  e'er  a  body 
was  a  ^s•alkun  down  on  the  rocks  ?  " 

But  like  the  mouse  who  gnawed  the  toils  in  which  the 
lion  was  inclosed,  an  unexpected  deliverer  came  to  Lucy's 
aid,  just  a3,  i.i  pretty  confusion,  and  blushing,  she  had 
turned  to  busy  horself  about  her  little  sister,  away  from 
the  embarrassment  of  this  unexpected  and  hitherto  unde- 
tected attack.  Urston  was  just  coming  toward  her  from 
his  resting-place  upon  the  rock ;  but  it  was  little  Janie 
that  brought  the  rescue. 

"I  think,"  said  she,  very  gravely  and  sententiously, 
"'e  wanted  to  get  my  s'awl." 

«  You  funny  little  maid ! "  cried  her  elder  sister,  laughing. 
"  And  'e  failed  down ;"  continued  the  little  explorer  of' 
causes,  to  make  her  statement  of  the  case  eomplete. 

"Janie's  handkerchief  blew  up  against  the  little  tree 
on  the  hillside,  and  held  fast,"  explained  Lucy  to  the 
women,  who  had  interrupted  their  raillery,  and  with  their 
eyes  sought  further  explanation  ;— «  and  so  she  thinks  he 
was  trying  to  get  it,"  she  continued,  turning  on  him,  as 
he  came  up,  a  look  the  brighter  and  prettier  for  her  con- 
fusion, and  with  a  tone  as  if  she  were  near  thinking  that 
Janie's  was  the  true  explanation. 

Urston  did  not  look  like  a  fisherman,  though  he  wore 
the  blue  jacket  and  trowsers ;  and  his  eye  had  evidently 
been  familiar  with  other  things  besides  the  way  of  the 
wind  on  the  water,  and  the  "  lay  "  of  the  rocky  land.  At 
the  moment,  he  still  showed  in  his  face  the  excitement  of 
his  late  adventure,  and  breathed  hard  from  the  struggle 
by  which  he  had  conquered. 

"Thank  you,"  said  he,  looking  as  well  as  speaking, 
while  he  took  his  hat  from  the  fair  hand  that  bore  it 
« It  wasn't  my  fault  if  I  didn't  get  a  good  ducking,  myself." 


A  PBEITY  SCENE  AND  ITS  BREAKING-UP.        29 

"  Why,  you  came  down  with  a  swoop,  like  a  sea-^ull ! " 
said  the  Minister,  who  was  not  far  off;  "how  you" ever 
managed  to  give  yourself  that  turn  in  to  the  beach,  I  don't 
know.— Your  crown  ought  to  be  made  of  something  better 
than  straw,  for  a  feat  like  that."  ° 

"  I  suppose  it's  something,  when  you've  made  a  blunder 
to  get  the  better  of  it,"  said  the  young  man,  modestly. 

"That's  the  way  the  best  part  of  us  is  brought  out, 
often  answered  the  Parson,  drawing  a  moral,  as  men  of 
his  cloth  will;  "but  if  you  always  manage  to  tumble 
down  as  strongly  and  safely  as  you  did  just  now,  you  can 
take  good  care  of  yourself  in  the  world." 

The  maiden's  bashful  eye  and  cheek  and  mouth  bright- 
ened and  quickened,  with  a  sweet  unconsciousness,  at 
this  compliment;  but  there  were  other  interested  persons, 
who  did  not  forget  themselves. 

«  Did  'ee  get  my  s'awl  ?  "  inquired  little  Janie,  as  the 
Minister  walked  away,  to  the  road. 

The  young  man  smiled,  and,  putting  his  hand  into  his 
jacket-pocket,  drew  forEh  and  spread  before  their  eyes 
the  missing  treasure,  and  then  returned  it  to  its  owner 
She  took  it  with  joy  (and,  no  doubt,  thankfulness)  ] 
bu  her  countenance  fell, as  she  remarked  that  "it  was  all 
tull  of  prickles !  " 

Some   one   of  the   women    made    (in    an   undertone, 
whic^jould  be  heard  at  some  distance)  her  comment, 

"  It's  my  thought  ef  Janie  had  n'  'ad  a  sister,  'e  wouldn' 
na  uoned  it. 

At  or  about  the  utterance  of  this  speech,  Lucy  with- 
drew, with  Janie,  along  the  path  which  she  had  been 
traversing  a  short  time  before. 

At  the  same  instant,  the  dog,  having  brought  his  charge 


so 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


!!!'■: 


safe  to  land  and  carried  it  up  high  and  dry  upon  the 
beach,  and  left  it  there,  came  back  to  perform  his  to  'e 
where  he  could  have  the  society  and  receive  the  con 
gratulafons  of  his  friends.  He  took  his  position  near  the 
last  speaker,  and,  with  special  precision,  spattered  her  all 
over,  from  head  to  foot.  Those  in  her  neighborhood  did 
no  quite  escape ;  and  the  gathering  dispersed,  with  good- 
natured  and  rather  noisy  precipitation. 

Epictetus,  for  his  part,  went  off,  also,  in  search  of  the 
Minister,  his  master. 

While  Urston  busied  himself  with  the  boat,  two  women, 
''Ef 'e  wants  to  go  a-courtun  e'er  a  maid  in  Peterport, 

thiSv' '' ''     ^""^ ''  '"''^""  ''^' "'  '^''  ^°"^^'  '^^y 

UerXZr^  '''"  "''''"  """'""''  '^'^'^^^'"  '''' 
Young  Ui-ston's  case  was  this :  his  father,  born  and 
bred  a  gentleman,  (as  was  said,  and  as  seemed  entirely 
ikely,)  had  as  others  like  him  have  done,  come,  youn., 
to  Newfoundland,  and  become  a  planter.     He  had  mar- 
ned  a  pretty  woman,  half-sister  of  Skipper  Geo.-ge's  wife 
but  owing  to  difference  of  religion,  (the.Urstons  being 
Roman  Cathohcs,)  the  two  families  had  had  little  inter! 
course. 

The  boy  gre>v  with  finer  instincts  and  quicker  faculties 
than  common,  taktng,  it  seemed,  f„,ni  both  parents,  for 
the  mother,  also,  was  not  only  a  fair  Irishwoman,  but  one 
of  feehng  and  sp.nt.  She  died  early ,  and,  while  she  was 
dymg,  commended  the  fostering  „f  her  child  to  an  attached 
servant ,  and  the  two  parents  devoted  him,  if  he  Uved,  to 
the  priesthood.  ' 


A   PRETTY  SCENE  AND  ITS   BHEAKING-UP.        31 

So    ut  the  age  of  twelve  or  thirteen  years,   Father 
U  loole  had  taken  him  into  his  own  house,  made  him  at 
first  an  altar-boy,  taught  him  as  well  as  he  could  and 
loved  him  abundantly.     He  had  no  dimculty  in  keepin.» 
the  boys  mind  up  to  his  demands:  but  after  some  time" 
(It  must  be  owned,)   it  would   have  required  an  effort 
winch  Father  Terence  would  not  make,  to  keep  it  down 
to  Ins  limits;  for  the  boy  was  a  very  active  fellow   in 
mmdand  body;  and  when  he  had  gone  throu-h  all  his 
spiritual  and  religious  exercises,  and  when  he  had  wrou-ht 
out  all  the  work  that  his  director  could  put  before  him,  must, 
of  course,  do  something.     By  way  of  vent,  the  good  father 
connived  at  his  reading  any  solid-looking  books  which  he 
could  borrow  from  friendly  gentlemen   in    Bay-Harbor 
(and  the  youth  did  not  fancy  any  thing  lighter  than  his- 
tory);    father   Terence,    also,  did   not    trouble  himself 
about  his  pupil's  slipping  off,  in  a  blue  jacket,  to  go  out 
upon  the  water.— an  indulgence  understood  to  be  an  occa- 
sional  relaxation  for  the  mind. 

His  own  father  refreshed  the  learning  of  other  years, 
for  his  son  s  sake,  and  taught  him  as  he  had  opportunitv 
At  seventeen  years  of  age,  the  young  candidate  was  to 
have  gone  to  Fran.e  and  Rome,  to  finish  his  preparation; 
but  he  was  now  a  year  and  a  half  beyond  that  a^e;  for 
just  as  he  came  to  it,  a  new  priest,  whose  learniW  and 

ant  in  the  Mission  at  Bay-Harbor,  and,  getting  a  good 

fiom  Father  Terence,  under  rule,  with  hard  penances 
Suddenly,  Father  Nicholas  went  up  to  St.  Johns ;  was* 
away,  from  month  to  month,  for  many  months; -and  at 
a^t,  young  Urston  withdrew,  and  said  "he  should  s^ 


BU 


THE  ^KW  PKIEST. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    WALK    AND    THK    END    OP    IT. 

)T  was  a  delightful  day,  soon  after,  when  Miss  Dare, 
'  who  was  as  much  with  Mrs.  Bane  as  at  her  Aunt's, 
fr;.  ^r  ^"'•"^••'•^'^^^^-^  «he  was  living,  persuaded  her 
fnend  to  a  walk ;  and,  once  out,  they  kept  on,  without 
turnmg  or  flagging,  beyond  sweep  of  road,  hill,  cove,  pass 
i^^the  rocks,  the  whole  length   of  the  harbor,  to  Mad 

The  two  ladies  did  not  talk  much  as  they  went,  but 
they  talked  pleasantly,  and  what  they  said  was  chiefly  of 
the  beauty  of  the  different  views,  which  Fanny  pointed 
out,  on  land  and  water,— and  there  are  very  many  to  be 
seen  by  an  open  eye,  in  walking  down  that  harbor  road 

The  nearest  house  to  the  top  of  the  slope  in  Mad  Cove 
was  that  of  Widow  Freney,  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  one' 
of  Mrs.  Barre's  pensioners ;  the  next-a  hovel  at  a  little 
distance-was  that  of  a  man  with  the  aristocratic  nama 
of  Somerset,  who  was,  in  American  phrase,  the  most 
"  shiftless  "  fellow  in  the  harbor. 

The  ladies  knocked  at  Mrs.  Freney's  door,  and  the  door 
swung  open  at  the  first  touch. 

The  widow,  however,  seemed  surprised  at  seeing  them 
and  confused.  The  place  had  been  tidied  up ;  the  chil-' 
dren  washed  and  brushed ;  and  Mrs.  Freney  wore  the 
best  dress  that  had  been  given  her,  and  a  ceremonious 


A  WALK  AND  THE  END  OF  TT. 


86 


face.     She  asked  the  ladies  to  be  seated,  less  urgently 
and  profusely  than  her  wont  was,  and  answered  with  some 

embarrassment.      One  of   her  children  was  sick. The 

ladies  did  not  stay. 

"Oh,  mother!"  exclaimed  a  child,  who  had  opened 

the  door  to  let  them  pass,  "  he's  here  !  the  Praest's  here ! " 

Miss  Dare  was  passing  out,  when,  as  the  boy  had  just 

announced,  a  gentleman  was  on  the  point  of  entering. 

Seeing  her,  he  silently  lifted  his  hat  and  drew  back. 

When  Mrs.  Barre  came,  he  started  in  extreme  astonish- 
ment, and  was  greatly— even  violently— agitated.  In  a  few 
moments,  he  so  far  recollected  himself  as  to  withdraw  his 
astonished  and  agitated  gaze  from  her,  and  turned  away. 
Mrs.  Barre's  look  wa^  full  of  the  intensest  feeling. 
Miss  Dare  watched  the  sudden  and  most  unlooked-tbr 
scene  in  surprised  and  agitated  silence  ;  Mrs.  Freney  and 
her  family  in  wondering  bewilderment. 

Mrs.  Ban-e  spoke  to  the  priest ;  her  voice  was  broken, 
and  tender,  and  moving. 

"  Shall  I  not  have  a  word  or  look  of  recognition  ?  "  she 
said. 

He  turned  about,  and  with  a  look  of  sad  doubt,  asked, 
g^'.  °ry  earnestly,  "  Are  you  a  Catholic  ?  " 

S;.-.  red  insta.itly,  "  Yes  !  as  I  always  was,  and 

never  i.  o..sed  to  be  for  a  moment." 

Perhaps  Miss  Dare  started,  but  a  glance  at  him  would 
fiave  assured  her  that  he  was  not  satisfied.  The  doubt 
m  his  look  had  not  grown  less ;  the  sadness  kept  its  place. 

"No  more?"  he  asked  again;  "not  what  I  believed 
when  we  took  leave  of  one  another?  Not  what  you 
were  in  Lisbon  ?  " 

Mrs  Barre,  with  a  woman's  confidence  and  directness, 
turned  to  what  must  have  been  a  common  memory  be- 
tween them : — 

vol,.  I.  ., 


34 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


No  more  than  what  I  was  when  I  was  a  happy  wife 
in  Jamaica,  and  had  a  true  and  noble  husband  and  two 
blessed  children  I     No  more,  and  the  same  !  " 

She  did  not  weep,  though  she  spoke  with  intense  feel- 
mg.     He  seemed  to  feel  almost  more  strongly.     He  put 
his  hand  upon  his  forehead,  pressing  both  brows.    Neither 
seemed  to  regard  the  presence  of  witnesses  ;  yet  when 
Miss   Dare  moved,  as  if  to  withdraw,  the  priest  hastily 
begged  her  not  to  go  away ;  and  then  to  Mrs.  Barr6, 
who  stood  looking  fixedly  upon  him,  he  said  sadly  :— 
**  How  can  I,  then,  but  ^ay  farewell  1" 
"  How  cjtn  you  not,  when  I  come  asking?" 
"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  follow  plain  du^y ;  and  not  un- 
feelingly, but  most  feelingly,  must  say  fareweU/"  and  he 
turned  and  walked  away  from  the  house,  toward  one  of  the 
knolls  of  rock  and  earth. 

"Then  I  must  wait!"  she  said,  turning  her  look  up 
toward  the  sky,  which  did  not  hide  or  change  its  face. 
Then  Mrs.  Barre's  strength  seemed  giving  way. 

"  Come  back  into  the  house  and  sit  a  moment,"  said 
Miss  Dare,  who  had  her  arm  about  her;  "and  Mrs. 
Freney,  will  you  get  a  little  water,  please  ?  " 

Mrs.  Barre,  though  unable  to  speak,  mutely  resisted  the 
mvitation  to  go  back  into  the  house,  but  persisted  in  go- 
mg,  with  tottering  steps,  up  the  hill  toward  the  path,  and 
still  kept  on,  though  almost  sinking,  for  some  rods  farther, 
—until  she  had  got  within  the  pass  through  the  rocks,—' 
there  she  sank  upon  a  stone. 

"Thank  you.  Don't  be  afraid  for  me,"  she  gasped- 
"I  never  fajnt."  Then  resting  her  elbows  on  her  knees, 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  so  sat,  «  Oh  ! 
Fanny,"  she  said,  "  you  saw  that  he  was  one  very  near  to 
me,  though  so  utterly  separated !  " 


A  WALK  AND  THE  END  OF  IT. 


96 


At  the  8oun('  of  a  hasty  step  approaching,  she  started 
and  looked  forth.  It  was  Mrs.  Freney  with  a  mug  of 
water. 

"  Here's  some  drink  he  bid  me  bring  'ee  ma'am,"  she 
said,  courtesying ;  "  an'  sure  I'm  very  proud  to  bring  it  to 
fiiich  a  kind  lady  as  /  are." 

Mrs.  Barre  thanked  her,  but  declined  the  water ;  and 
the  woman,  expressing  a  hope  •  t!;at  ahe  wouldn't  be  the 
worse  of  her  walk,"  offered  to  procure  a  punt  that 
she  might  be  rowed  back,  "if  she'd  plase  to  let  her 
get  it."  This  offer,  like  the  other,  was  declined,  with 
thanks. 

The  ladies  walked  back  more  silently  than  they  had 
come,  and  more  slowly,  Mrs.  Barre  resting  more  than 
once  by  the  way,  and  looking  hurriedly  backward,  often. 
At  home  she  threw  herself  down,  and  lay  long  with  her 
face  buried.  At  length  she  rose,  and  wiping  away  her 
tears,  said : — 

"  Ah  Fanny,  it  isn't  right  that  a  bright,  young  spirit 
like  yours  should  have  so  much  to  do  with  sorrow.  Your 
day  is  not  come  yet." 

"  You  don't  know  that,"  said  her  friend,  smiling,  and 
then  turning  away.  "  Perhaps  that  was  the  very^thing 
that  brought  me  to  you." 

Mrs.  Barre  drew  iier  to  herself  and  kissed  her.  The 
tears  were  falling  dokvn  Fanny's  cheeks  this  time. 

A  sweet  breath  of  summer  air  came  through  the  open 
window. 

"  You  brave,  dear  girl !  "  said  the  widowed  lady,  kiss- 
ing her  again. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Fanny,  shaking  the  tears  away; 
"but  will  you  let  me  be  wise— though  I  haven't  had 
much  to  do  with  Roman  Catholics— and  ask  you  not  to  ex- 


ae 


THE   NKVV   PRIEST. 


poso  yourself  to  this  RomisJi  priest,  even  if  he's  your  own 
brother  I  Let  him  go,  won't  you  ?  You  can't  do  him 
any  good,  and  ho  won't  do  you  any." 

"Nothing  can  make  me  a  Roman  CatholicI "  said 
Mrs.  Barre,  "and  I  can't  help  having  to  do  with  him. 
I  wouldn't  for  all  this  world  lose  my  chance  !  " 

"  Ah  I  but  we  think  our  own  case  different  Vrom 
others,"  said  Miss  Dare. 

"  If  you  knew  what  was  past,  Fanny,  you'd  trust  me 
for  what's  to  come,  under  God.  If  I  come  to  too  deep 
water,  be  sure  I'll  ask  Mr.  Wellon." 


A  FEW  MOMKNTS  OP  TWO   LIVES. 


97 


CHAPTER  V. 


A    PEW    MOMENTS    OP   TWO    TODNO    PEOPLE'S    LIVES. 

)  WO  or  three  dnya  passed  before  our  young  people, 
who  separated  at  Whitmonduy  Hill,  met  again. 
The  night  had  been  rainy;    but  the   morning 
was  delightful.     An  occasional  clou<l  floated,  like  a  hulk 
from  la.-t  night's  battle,  across  the  sky ;  but  the  blue,  where 
it  appeared,  was  of  the  very  bluest ;  and  the  air  fittest  for 
breathing  and  being  glad  in.     The  high,  rocky  walls  of 
coast,  the  ridges  and  the  far-off  woods,  were  as  fresh  and 
clear  as  could  he  ;  the  earth  Avas  cool  and  strong  under 
foot,  and  one  might  feel  the  wish-wash  of  the  water  where 
he  could  not  hear  it. 

Skipper  George  had  part  of  his  old  father's  garden,  on 
the  slope  below  the  ridgy  boundary  of  the  little  plain 
on  which  his  own  house  stood,  and  Skipper  George's 
daughter,  like  other  maidens  of  the  land,  was  early  busy 
in  it,  full  of  the  morning  fresluiess  and  beauty  of  the  day. 
A  step  drew  near,  and  James  Urston,  coming  to  the  fence* 
wished  her  "good  morning,"  and  lifted  his  hat,  gracefully,' 
as  if  he  had  had  his  schooling  somewhere  abroad. 

"Oh,  James!"  said  she,  looking  up,  with  her  face  all 
glowing,  "you  hurt  yourself  the  other  day  !" 

"No.  I've  got  over  it  before  this;  it  was  nothing." 
His  face,  too,  had  its  fresh  touch  of  brightness  and  spirit 
from  the  morning. 


'ikiif  |t> 


88 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


« It  might  have  been  something,  though.  You  shouldn't 
have  run  the  risk  for  such  a  trifle." 

"  There  was  no  risk ;  and  if  there  had  been,  it  wasn't 
for  little  Janie  only  that  I  got  the  '  shawl.' " 

Lucy's  bright  eyes  perhaps  looked  brighter.  "Are  you 
going  out  on  the  water  to-day  ?  "  she  asked,  changing  the 
subject. 

"  Yes,  To-day,  and  To-morrow,  and  To-morrow,  I  sup- 
pose ;  but  I  hope,  not  always !  " 

"  Would  you  go  to  Bay-Harbor  again  ?  " 
"  Never  on  the  old  errand,  Lucy ;  I  can  have  a  place 
in  Worner,  Grose  &  Co.'s  house;    I   think  Miss  Dare 
must  have  spoken  about  it." 

"Did  you  know,"  said  Lucy,  drawing  nearer  to  the 
fence,  and  bashfully  hesitating,  "  that  she  had  spoken  to 
the  Minister  about  making  me  mistress  in  a  school?" 
The  maiden  blushed,  as  she  spoke,  and  very  prettily. 

"And  he  will;  won't  he?"  said  Ursfon,  interestedly, 
but  rather  gravely. 

"Oh!  I  don't  know;  he  told  me  that  he  might  be  able 
to  soon;  but  I  don't  think  there's  any  place  for  me," 
she  answered,  busying  herself  with  the  garden. 

"  Yes ;  and  more  than  that,  by  and  by  !  "  said  he,  decid- 
edly.— A  nice  ear  could  have  detected  a  httle  sadness 
in  the  tone  with  which  he  said  these  words  of  happy 
augury. 

She  looked  hastily  up. 

"And  some  of  these  days  you'U  be  a  merchant ! "  she 
said. 

"  Something,  please  God ;  something,  Lucy,  that  wants 
mind  in  it,  I  hope,  and  that  one  can  put  some  heart  in, 
too ;  something  that  will  give  one  chances  to  thmk,  and 
learn,  after  having  once  begun  as  I  have." 


A  FEW  MOMENTS  OF  TWO  LIVES.  39 

"Oh,  you'll  go  on  learning,  I'm  sure,"  she  said;  "you 
know  so  much,  and  you're  so  fond  of  it." 

The  morning  was  fresh  and  clear,  the  water  bright  and 
living. 

"  You  think  a  good  deal  of  my  knowing  a  little  Latin  • 
but  only  think  of  what  other  people  know!— this  very 
Father  Nicholas  at  Bay-Harbor.  You  know  ten  times 
as  much  that's  worth  knowing  as  I  do  I " 

"Oh!    no,"  said  the  maiden,  "it  wasn't  the  Latin 
only—"  ' 

«I  know  the  'Hours,'  as  they  call  them,"  he  said, 
smihng,  "and  some  of  the  'Lives  of  Saints.'" 

"  Oh,  no  !  all  those  books  that  the  lawyer  lent  you." 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  those,  I  should  have  been  worse 
yet;— Father  Terence  hadn't  many;— yes,  I've  read 
enough  to  want  to  know  more;-but  the  pleasantest 
readmg  I  ever  had  was  reading  your  English  Bible  with 
you  those  two  times." 

«  Was  it,  really  ?  "  the  maiden  asked,  with  a  glad  look, 
m  her  simplicity,  and  then  she  blushed  a  little. 

"  Yes ;  I've  got  every  word  of  what  we  read,  as  if  it 
were  written  in  my  mind  deeper  than  ever  those  North- 
men cut  their  words  in  the  rock." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  beautifully  thought- 
ful out  into  the  air;  but  then  suddenly  recalled  herself 
and  said, — 

"  But  they  cut  their  words  deeply,  to  stand  till  now 
ages  after,  with  the  sun  shining  on  them,  and  the  storm 
beatmg  against  them,  and  the  ice  freezing  over  them 
year  after  year,-if  they  are  there,  as  people  say." 

"There  are  writings  in  the  rock  ;  but  I  don't  know  if 
there  are  any  of  the  Northmen's.  It  doesn't  matter 
much ;  no  one  sees  or  cares  for  them." 


■:]l| 


40 


thp:  new  priest. 


"  Men  oughtn't  to  forget  them ! ".  she  said,  with  glisten- 
ing  eyes.  , 

"Poor  men!"  said  Urston,  in  his  turn,  "they  hoped 
for  something  better !  But  hopes  are  happy  things  while 
we  have  them,  and  disappointed  hope  doesn't  hu^rt  dead 
men.     It's  the  living  that  feel." 

The  young  man  said  this  as  if  he  had  begun  a  man's 
life,  such  as  it  is,  most  often.  Perhaps  he  thought  only 
of  one  disappointment,  that  at  Bay-Harbor. 

Lucy  was  busy  again  with  the  garden. 

By  and  by  she  asked,  "What  do  you  think  they 
wi'ote  ?  "  -'J 

"Perhaps  only  their  names;  perhaps  the  names  of 
some  other  people  that  they  cared  for  at  home ;  and  the 
time  when  they  came." 

"There  may  be  grave-stones  as  old,"  Lucy  said,  "but 
this  seems  stranger,  cut  by  strange  men  on  a  great  cliff 
over  the  sea ;— I  should  hke  to  look  for  it." 

"  You  know  they  say  it's  somewhere  on  the  face  of 
Mad-Head,"*  said  Urston;  then  looking  towards  the 
ridge,  he  said,  "  Here  comes  my  father  !"  and  wished  her 
hastily  «  Good-bye ! " 

*  So  it  18  believed,  in  Peterport,  of  a  certain  cliff;  and,  very  Ilkelv. 
in  other  places,  of  other  rocks.  ^ 


A  WIUTTEN   ROCK,   AND  SOMETHING  MORE.       41 


CHAPTER  VI. 


L   WRITTEN   ROCK,   AND    SOMETHING   MOBE. 

)R.  SMALL  GROVE,  not  jealous,  had  invited 
Skipper  George's  daughter  to  come  in,  as  often 
as  she  pleased,  to  the  school ;  and  generally  con- 
trived to  make  this  something  more  than  a  compliment, 
by  getting  her  occupied,  when  she  came,  with  teaching  the 
more  advanced  scholars,  while  Mrs.  Smallgrove  taught 
the  younger,  and  he,  with  cabn  authority,  presided. 

This  day  Lucy  Barbury  had  sought  the  scholastic  hall, 
and  there  Miss  Dare  called  for  her,  just  as  school  hours 
were  over. 

The  haunts  of  childhood  have  an  attractiveness  of  their 
own  about  them,  for  those  that  were  children  once,  and*Miss 
Dare,  as  Lucy  came  bashfully  out,  pointed,  with  a  silent 
smile,  to  the  stain  made  upon  the  door-post  by  little  hands 
holding  against  it  while  little  feet  were  Ufted  *o  the  height 
of  the  threshold ;  and  read,  with  a  smile,  a  legend  traced 
with  tar  upon  a  bit  of  board  which  leaned  against  the 
school-house.     It  was  a  timely  moral  for  the  young  vota- 
ries of  science,  indicted  by  one  of  themselves,  inspired:— 
"  Yo  that  wool  lam, 
Don  fall  Estarn." 

"  I'm  going  down  to  make  some   drawings,"  she  said, 
*'  would  you  like  to  go.  Miss  Lucy  ' -arbury  ?  " 


42 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


•'  Yes,  if  you  please.  Miss  Dare;  if  you'd  like  me  ta 
Are  you  going  to  Mad  Cove  ?  " 

"No;  I  wasn't  going  to  Mad  Cove,  but  I  will  go,  if 
you'd  like  it."  ^ 

"I  think  that  writing  must  be  so  strange,  that  they 
say  the  Northmen  left  on  the  Head  ages  ago." 

"  But  why,  out  of  all  the  ages,  is  it  so^interesting  to- 

day  ?  "  ° 

^    "I  only  heard  to-day  where  it  was.     Do  you  think  it 
IS  then-  writing,  Miss  Dare  ?  " 

"  So  it's  thought;  but  it  isn't  always  easy  to  make  sure 
ot  such  thmgs.     I  saw  an  account  of  a  stone  dug  up,  the 
other  day,  in  the  United  States  somewhere ;  and  an  In- 
dian scholar  said  that  the  letters  were  hieroglyphics,  and 
meant  that  '  seven  sons  of  the  IMack  Cloud  made  three 
hundred  of  the  Wolfs  cubs  to  fall   like  leaves  of  the 
forest;'  and  a  great  Oriental  scholar  read  it,  'Here  the 
Brothers  of   the  Pilgrim  rested  by   the   graves   of  the 
dead;    and  he  said  it  was  a  trace  of  the  lost  tribes  of 
Israel;  but  a  scholar  in  the  Scandinavian  languages,  of 
Sweden  and  Denmark,  said  it  was  a  relic  of  the  North- 
men,   who    went   from   those   countries    and   discovered 
North    America;     and   that   it   meant,   'In   the   rolling 
fields  we   make   our  home  that  used  to  have  a   home 
on  the  rolling  waves.'     And  there  it  is,  you  see.     This 
writing  on  our  rock  is  also  said  to  be  by  those  North- 
men." 

"And  it  may  be  by  Captain  Cook,  who  set  up  the 
stones  at  Sandy-Harbor,"  said  Lucy,  smiling. 

"  Yes ;  it  may  be,"  said  Miss  Dare,  ass^enting  to  the 
possibdity  suggested. 

"  But  it  may  be  by  those  men,"  said  Lucy  again,  return- 
ing to  the  other  possibility. 


i  like  me  to. 


A   WRITTEN   ROCK,   ANl>   SOMETHING  MORE.       43 

"Certainly,"  answered  Miss  Dare,  assenting  again; 
"  and  It  may  be  by  the  Lost  Tribes." 

Lucy  kindled  as  if  a  spirit  of  the  old  time  came  over 
her.  Her  eyes  swelled  and  briglitened,  and  she  grew 
pale. 

"If  it  were,  they  ought  not  to  leave  it  hanging  out 
there  over  the  sea;  but  I  suppose  they'd  be  afraid  to 
move  it,"  said  she.  "And  if  it  were  those  Northern  men 
had  written  there,  I  should  almost  be  afr.id  to  look  at  it 
so  long  after  they  were  gone ;  it  would  be  almost  as  if 
they  had  come  back  again  to  do  it ;  but  they  did  some- 
times write  simple  little  things  like  a  man's  name,  didn't 
they,  Miss  Dare  ?  " 

"  That's  been  a  trick  of  the  whole  race  of  men  in  aU 
ages;  writing  their  own  names  and  other  people's,"  said 
Miss  Dare,  «  on  walls,  and  trees,  and  rocks." 

It  took  them  a  good  half-hour— though  they  walked 
well— to  get  to  the  mysterious  rock,  over  Whitmonday 
Hill  and  by  Frank's  Cove  and  lesser  neighborhoods;  but 
pleasant  talking  about  many  a  pleasant  thing,  and  frequent 
greetings  to  the  neighbors,  as  they  passed,  perhaps  made 
the  time  short. 

By  and  by  they  stood  on  Mad-Head;  the  fresh  wind 
blowing  m  from  the  bay ;  the  great  waves  rushin..  vo 
and  falling  back  far  down  below  them  ;  the  boundless 
ocean  opening  forth,  beyond  Bacaloue  Island  ;  this  cruel 
sea  close  at  hand  being  of  the  same  nature  as  that  with- 
out, only  a  little  tamed.  They  both  stood,  at  first,  without 
speaking.  At  length  xMiss  Dare  recalled  the  object  of 
their  visit,  and  said,— 

"Now,  Lucy,  use  your  eyes,  please;  and  see  which  is 
this  famous  stone.  I  am  rather  impatient  now  we're  so 
nG3.r  it.  ■ 


I: 


**i 


44 


TT!K    NRNV  PRIRST. 


Lucy,  too,  was  quite  excited. 

"  Tliis  is  the  very  rock,  I  think,"  said  she ;  and  she 
tlirew  herself  upon  the  ground,  and  liolding  by  an  up- 
standing point  of  the  rock,  and  by  its  edge,  leaned  over, 
bodily,  and  looked  down  the  hollowing  lace  of  the  huge 
cliff.  Steady  as  a  girl  of  her  life  -  '  >  eye  and  hand, 
she  did  this  with  the  same  comp..  ^^ith  which  she 

would  have  leaned  over  her  father's  fence.  Mi:4s  Dare 
threw  back  her  bonnet  and  let  the  wind  do  what  it  would 
with  her  hair,  while  she  got  down  upon  her  knees  and 
looked  over  also. 

These  two  pairs  of  bright  eyes  had  looked  some  time 
when  they  began  to  make  out  something  like  letters  on  the 
great  grained  and  wrinkled  and  riven  surface,  and  about 
an  arm's  length  down,  and  yet  so  hidden  by  the  over- 
browing  of  the  rock,  as  not  to  be  seen  without  stretching 
far  over.  Fearlessly,  and  full  of  interest,  they  leaned 
over  in  turn ;  each,  also,  In  turn,  holding  the  other. 

"If  it  should  be  Greek  or  Hebrew,  it  will  be  too  much 
for  me :  Roman,  or  old  English,  or  German  Text,  I  fancy 
we  may  make  out,"  said  Miss  Dare.    "  Stay  !  I  was  reading 

upsidedown,  like  those  inscriptions  in  the  Desert Til 

begin  at  my  end  ;  "—and  she  began  drawing.  "  I'hat  looks 
as  if  it  would  come  out  like  the  old  Bla  '  Letter,  or 
German  Text," 

"  James  Urston  might  have  read  it  if  he'd  only  looked ; 
he  writes  German  Text 'beautifully,  and  knows  all  kinds 
of  writing  I  suppose,"  said  Lucy. 

"  Perhaps  James  Urston  never  heard  of  it,"  suggested 
Miss  Dare. 

"  Oh  !  I  forgot !  he  told  me  where  ihey  said  it  was,  but 
I  don't  think  he  had  seen  it,"  said  Lucy. 
"Ah?— Well,"  Miss  Dare  continued,  keeping  to  her 


A  WRITTEN  ROCK,  AND  SOMETHING  MORE.       45 

work,  "if  we  turn  that  uj^side  down  it  looks  like  '%  ' 
certainly;  doesn't  it?  We  must  allow  a  little  for  the 
difficulty  of  cutting,  and  a  little  for  difference  of  writing, 
and  a  little  for  age.  Why,  if  it  all  goes  as  well  as  this,' 
we  shall  make  a  noise  with  it  in  the  world.  Now  you  get 
the  next,  please ;— very  likely  a  date!"  added  Miss  Dare, 
in  fine  spirits.  «  There  must  have  been  a  letter  before  it, 
but  there's  no  trace  of  one  now." 

"  Here  are  two  out  here  by  themselves,  Miss  Dare ! " 
said  Lucy,  who  had  been  looking  over  at  another  place, 
while  the  drawing  was  made,  and  who  was  excited  with 
her  discovery.     «  They're  very  plain :  '  I-V.'  " 

"  What  can  that  be  ?  "  said  Miss  Dare.  "  Four  ?  Four 
what?  'I-V.'  it  certainly  is,"  she  said,  after  taking  her 
turn  in  looking  over.  "  Well,  we  can't  make  any  thing 
more  of  it  just  now.  There  are  no  other  letters  anywhere 
along.     Let  us  go  back  to  our  fii-st  work." 

The  next  letter  they  pronounced  «  n,"  after  getting  its 
likeness  on  the  paper. 

"  That's  no  date,"  said  Miss  Dare  again  :  "  *  U  ?  '  " 

" '  0,' "  suggested  Lucy  Barbury  ;  « it  may  be  a  prayer." 

"  Well  thought  again  !     So  it  may  be !     Let's  see,— 

what's  the  next  ?— '  r ! ^     Good  !•    But  stay  :  this'll  take 

down  the  age  of  our  inscription,  mightily,  if  we  make  that 

English.     That  other  letter  's  *  U,'  depend  upon  it.    '  a= 

W=t^='— some   sort   of  Scandinavian   name — and '  J|)  ! ' 

'  ^Lttrfi,'  That  looks  pretty  well  and  sounds  pretty  well. 
Why,  that's  a  grand  tld  Norse  name  !  <  Lury ! '  It  sounds 
like  Ruric,  the  Russian  conqueror,  and  'Fuur,'  and 
'  LURID.'     That's  an  old  Viking." 

"How  strange!"  said  the  pretty  fisher's  daughter, 
thoughtfully,  « that  one  name,  of  aU,  should  be  there ;  and 
just  the  name  makes  us  think  of  a  particular  man,  and 


46 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


how  he  looked,  and  care  something  about  him— doesn't  it? 
He  was  the  commander,  I  aupposo." 

Miss  Dare,  full  of  eager  discovery,  was  bending  over, 
in  her  turn.  It  was  slow  work,  stretching  over,  looking 
carefully,  and  copying  a  little  at  a  time. 

"  We  shall  have  more  trouble  about  the  next  word," 
said  she,  "  for  that  won't  be  a  name  ;  they  only  had  one 
name  in  those  days.  It  may  be  *  somebody's  son,'  though ; 
yes,  it  may  be  a  name." 

"  And,  perhaps,"  said  Lucy,  smiling,  (for  they  really 
had  but  a  mere  thread  of  conjecture  to  walk  upon,  across 
a  boundless  d'^pth,)  «  perhaps  this  is  no  man's  name.  It 
may  mean  something." 

"  We  haven't  got  that  third  letter  exactly,  after  all," 
said  Miss  Dare,  comparing  and  correcting.  "  It's  *  C/  not 
*  t,'     It  doesn't  make  a  man's  name  now,  certainly." 

"  There's  a  Saint  Lucy,  among  the  Roman  Catholics," 
said  her  namesake.  "  I  suppose  they  landed  on  her  day, 
just  as  they  did  at  St.  John's,  and  St.  George's,  and  St. 
Mary's,  and  the  rest." 

"  This  is  a  Lucy  that  hasn't  been  canonized  yet,  for 
there's  nothing  before  her  name ;  and  I've  got  a  key  to 
the  other,  so  that  it  doesn't  give  me  as  much  trouble  as  I 
expected.     I  believe  it  does  '  mean  something:  " 

Lucy  Barbury  leaned  over  the  rock  again  in  silence, 
but  presently  drew  herself  up  as  silently ;  and  as  Miss 
Dare  looked  at  her  with  a  smile,  she  said,  (and  no  pencil 
could  have  given  the  prettiness  of  the  blushing  cheek,  and 
drooping  lid,  and  head  half  held  up,)— 
"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  it  is." 
"  But  I  do,"  said  Miss  Dare :  " '  3B=asrsfi=Usr=S.' 
That's  more  familiar  than  one  of  those  hard  old  Norse 
names,  isn't  it  ?     It  seems  to  be  a  woman's  name  ;  but  if   * 


-doesn't  it  ? 


A  WKITTKN  KOCK,  AND  SOMETHING  MORE.       47 

mHk(,3  you  'think  of  a  particular  man,'  perhaps,  as  you 
sa.d  'and  how  he  looked,  and  care  something  about 
him?  "  ° 

yh !  Miss  Dare,"  said  Lucy,  quite  overcome  with 
confusion,  « I  didn't  know  it  was  there." 

"Nor  I;  but  since  it's  there,  somebody  put  it  there; 
and  somebody  that  understands  German  Text.  But  T 
was  only  in  fun,  Lucy.  Don't  mind  it.  You  didn't  cut 
it." 

Lucy  would  not  have  minded  it,  perhaps,  if  she  had  cut 
It  herself. 

"I'n  afraid  somebody  '11  see  it,"  she  said. 

There  was,  indeed,  more  than  one  body  (female-^and, 
mdeed,  an  old  man  too,-)  hastily  getting  up  along  the 
chff  s  edge,  looking  over,  all  the  way  along.  Few  people 
were  m  the  Cove  at  the  time,  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  ^^v^  had  been  busy ;  but  still  the  long  sitting,  and 
above  all,  the  strange  doings  up  at  Mad-Head,  had  not 
been  unobserved,  and  at  length  it  was  impossible  for  the 
beholdens  to  keep  away. 

"I  don't  believe  they'll  see  it,"  said  Miss  Dare,  as  they 
came  near,  «  and  if  they  were  to  they  wouldn't  make  much 
ont  of  It;  not  many  of  i\,^  worr^en  understand  Geman 
lext.  There  are  tho^e  Roman  letters,  beyond,  that  could 
be  made  out  more  easily;  but  there  again,  unless  they 
were  pretty  familiar  with  such  things,  ,hey  wouldn't  be 
the  wiser. 

••  r  wondor  what  they  mean,"  said  L,„.y,  who,  after  the 
reve  at,on  of  the  B.a,*  Letter,  might  be  glad  of  a  »afe 
subject  for  speculation. 

^    "I  fancy  that  they  might  be  interpreted  by  one  who 

unde-,t^mi,  all  kinds  of  writing,'"  said  Mi.,s  Dare,  with 

smue,-but  speaking  so  that  the  approaching  neighbors 


48 


THE  NKW   PKIEST. 


sliould  not  hear,— but  I  and  J  used  to  be  the  same  letter, 
and  so  did  V  and  U." 

Lucy  blushed  more  deeply  than  ever  at  the  intelligence 
that  lurked  in  this  sentence. 

«  Oh !  don't  tell  them,  Miss  Dare,  please,"  said  she. 

"  Did  'ee  loss  any  thing,  Miss  ?  "  said  the  foremost  of  the 
advancing  inquirers. 

"  Yes ;  I'm  afraid  we've  lost  our  time ;  haven't  we, 
Lucy?'" 

"I  thought,  mubb'e  'ee  may  have  alossed  something 
down  the  rocks." 

"  No  ;  we  were  looking  for  the  old  writing,  you  know, 
that  they  say  is  cut  in.  Lucy  here,  had  read  about  such 
things  and  she  was  very  anxious  to  see  one." 

As  Miss  Dare  said  this,  she  looked  gravely  at  her  com- 
panion, but  that  pretty  maiden  was,  or  seemed,  altogether 
taken  up,  with  the  tie  of  one  ^f  her  shoes. 

"  Did  'ee  find  'un,"  inquired  another  of  the  curious,  as 
all  their  eyes  wandered  from  one  explorer  to  the  other. 

"  No ;  we  found  some  marks,  but  they  don't  look  like 
old  letters. — How  do  the  fish  go  to-day  ?  " 

"  They'm  ruther  sca'ce  Miss,  but  the  bait's  plenty." 

As  Miss  Dare  and  her  scholar  went  home,  they  said 
nothing  more  to  each  other  of  their  discovery.  The 
neighbors,  dispersing  slowly,  wondered  "  what  made  young 
Lucy  Barbury  look  so  frustrated  like,"  and  concluded 
that  it  was  because  of  her  not  being  "  so  sharp  about 
they  things  as  Miss  Dare,  and  how  could  she  ?  " 


TRUK   WORDS  ARK  SOMETIMKS   VERY   HEAVY.      49 


CHAPTER  YIL 

mvr.   WORDS   ABE   SOMETIMES   VERY  nEATT. 

pan  of  the  harbor,  might  have  «en  young  Ura- 
.  _  ion  standing  under  the  CVoss-way-Flake  whioh 
»ver,  with  thick  shade  a  pan  of  the  .J    ey    'd  5^  r' 

trZ<:^r  ""  "'""°"^-  '°  '"=  °"  -painted  ho      , 

J  .om  where  the  young  „»„  stood,  th,>  fair  blue  heaven 
over  the  top  of  which  .nclosure  had  now  begun  to  oour 

Z  nlif  irt  ""7  T  '  """'  --p4  awayT' 
airy  »alls,_the  fresh  and  glorious  day. 

youn?:,n7eTt  h""";'  T-  "'"'  ""^  "^  '"^  «'*^-  »^  the 

Tha  K,::;:ittft"f,T'''"  "i  "^"'  '""••  ^'  ™ 

some  fish  whrsh:  wa?         "?'■  "''°  ''"'"' '"'°™'  '"* 

he  saluted  resp  c tfu  iHirT""", '"  ''""^'  ■""■  '''«"" 
u  respectfully,  giving  her  the  title  of  "  Aunt  " 

she  contiCd  htr  worL     ""'  ^"'^''^  '"^  ^'^'"'  """« 
u'!:;*''''  "  ""^  ^^  S"-  "P  heing  a  .riest,  Mr. 

;„..  "    '"*  ^''"'S  h«  coming  life,  like  a  quoit-caster, 


00 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


to  see  how  far  the  uttered  word  would  strike  ;  then,  turn- 
ing to  her,  and  in  a  lower  voice,  added,  "  I've  left  that, 
once  and  forever. — But  why  must  I  be  so  strange,  that 
you  call  me  '  Mr.  Urston  ? ' " 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly,  without  speaking.  He 
kept  hia  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  as  if  expecting  her  to  say 
more ;  but  as  she  turnc<l  to  her  work  again  in  silence,  he 
said—"  I'm  a  fisherman,  just  now ;  I  may  be  something 
else,  but  it  won't  be  a  priest." 

"  James  Uraton  !  "  she  said,  abruptly  as  before.  "  Do 
you  know  you're  trifling  with  the  very  life?" 

The  young  man  started.  "  I  don't  understand,"  said 
he  ;  "  do  you  blame  me  for  not  being  a  priest  ?  " 

No;  I'm  glad  of  it:  but  what  is  there  between  you 
and  my  daughter  Lucy  ? " 

The  young  heart,  m  if  it  had  l)(!en  touched  in  its  pri- 
vacy, threw  a  quick  rush  of  blood  up  into  James  Urston's 
face.  "  Nothing,"  he  answered,  much  like  a  lover  ;  being 
confused  by  her  suddenness. 

"  There  ought  to  be  nothing,  and  nothing  there  must 
be !— I've  told  her,  and  I  tell  you,  Mr.  James  Urston, 
you  must  not  meet  any  more." 

"  But  why  ?  "  he  asked,  not  recovered  from  his  confu- 
sion. 

"  You  can  see,  easily,"  said  Mrs.  Barbury.     "  I  needn't 

tell  you  why." 

Is  there  any  thing  so  hard,  or  that  goes  in  so  deep,  as 
air  made  into  words  ? 

"  No,  I  don't  see,"  he  said.  "  I  see  how  different  she 
is  from  any  one  else." 

How  could  he  let  himself  see  that  wall,  so  suddenly 
built  up,  but  so  surely  ? — It  was  not,  yesterday. 

"  I  know  she  is,"  said  the  mother,  "  and  I  thank  God 


TRUE  WORDS  ARE  SOMETIMES  VERY   HEAVY.     51 

for  it;  He  made  I.er  so:  but  her  feeling,,  are  like  other 
people,  on),  the,  may  go  deeper._Th:,  can't  be  tritd 

lnf.<.  H  not  my  eharacter,-with  man  or  woman  1" 
Ther.  «.as  a  strength  in  thi.s  self-assertion,  in  which  every 
rirr;:^^"'^'^^--^-^^---^-impreJ 

"I  believe  you  don't  mean  wrong,"  she  said;  "and 
hat  makes  .t  easier  to  speak  plain  to  you.  I  haven't 
lan^mge  hke  yours,  but  I  can  say  the  truth.  I'm  her 
mother  and  must  answer  to  God  for  what  care  I  take  of 
her.  It  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  let  you  go  on,  and  for 
you  to  go  on,  against  my  forbidding." 

but  Ms.  Barbury  was  near;  and   happily,  and  rather 
strangely,  no  one  else  was  drawing,  near 

sbn'  I  ^V"'^'"^  '''  ^'''  ^'""« '  ^  ^'^^'  ^"^^  ^hat  else 
should  make  it  wrong,"  he  said. 

"  Diference  of  religion,  James  U.  ston,"  she  said,  slowly 
and  gravely,-"  as  you  must  know  yourself.     I  ;ouldn^ 
be  unkm   ;  but  it  can't  be  helped."-it  was  plain  ta 
she  was  thoroughly  resolved. 

He  answered  bitterly : 

"  If  you  don't  blame  me  for  not  being  a  priest  youni 

Z^^'  r  Ir^'  '^-^  -7  further.     T^hr 
""glitn  t  always  be  a  difference  of  relWon  " 

she  slid  !!*""■'  '"'*'''  "^^""^  •"  *■■"'  -O  — 'yi 

wo'mL'!^.''  *'*  ^""'^  ^™"  "P  '-'"•"S  "  priest  for  any 


l''||'Et 


62 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"  1  never  gave  up  the  priesthood  for  any  thing  but  con- 
science !  because  I  must  be  a  hypocrite,  if  I  kept  on.  1 
can't  believe  every  thing,  like  good  old  Father  Terence  ; 

and  I  can't  be  a  villain,  like "  (he  did  not  give  the 

name.) 

She  answered : — 

"  You  speak  quite  another  way,  when  you  say  that  I  ^ 
ought  to  risk  my  daughter  for  the  chance  of  making  you 
a  Protestant !  I've  no  right  to  sell  my  daughter's  soul !  " 
Again  the  young  man  took  fire.  "  We  needn't  speak 
of  trafficking  in  souls,"  he  said,  "  I'm  sure  nothing  would 
buy  her's,  and  I  wouldn't  sell  mine,— even  for  Lucy  Bar- 
bury." 

"  Then  do  right ! "  said  the  simple  reasoner  who  was 
talking  with  him.  "You  can't  be  any  thing  to  each 
other ! " 

Gentle  as  her  face  and  voice  were,  the  sentence  was 
not  to  be  changed.     It  is  not  only  in  drowning,  that  the 
whole  life  past, — ay,  and  the  future's  hope, — meet  in  an 
instant's  consciousness,  as  a  drop  reflects  the  firmament ; 
for,  in  any  crisis  which  has  power  to  quicken  every  fac- 
ulty to  its  utmost,  all  that  is  past  comes  with  a  sudden 
sadness,  and  all  that  might  have  been  ;  while,  at  the  same 
pulse,  comes  the  feeling,  that,  between  past  and  future, 
we  are  losing  hold  and  slipping  down,  forever;  quitting 
the  results  of  what  is  gone,  and  the  opportunity  of  what 
was  to  come.     Wiioever  has  had  the  experience  of  love 
discovered  in  his  heart,  only  that  it  may  be  chased  and 
killed,  may  know  what  Urston  felt. 

"  You  can't  help  what  she  has  been  to  me,"  he  said, 
sadly.  "  You  can't  take  away  the  memory,  at  least.  You 
can't  take  away  noble  thoughts  she's  given  me.  You  can 
take  away  what  might  have  been,  yet," — he  added,  bit- 


TRUE  WORDS  ARE  SOMETIMKS  VERY  HEAVY.     63 

terly,  as  well  as  sadly,  "it's  hard  for  a  young  man  tc 
have  to  look  back  for  his  happiness,  instead  of  forward ! 
I  didn't  think  it  was  to  be  my  case  !  " 

No  man  living,  and  certainly  no  woman,  could  help 
feeling  with  him.  Mrs.  Barbury  and  he  were  still  alone 
together.     She  spoke  (and  gently)  :— 

"  Happiness  isn't  what  we're  to  seek  for ;  but  it  comes 
after  doing  what's  right.-It  isn't  always  easy  to  do  right," 
site  said. 

'^Not  so  easy  as  to  tell  others  to  do  it,"  he  answered, 
bitterly,  still.  ' 

"And  yet,  it  is  to  be  done ;  and  many  have  done  as 
hard  things,"  said  Mrs.  Barbury,  "and  even  were  the 
better  for  it,  afterwards." 

"When  it  takes  away  the  very  best  of  life,  at  the 
beginning  " .  The  young  man  gave  way  to  his  feel- 
ings for  a  moment,  and  his  voice  broke. 

"  We  may  live  through  it,  and  be  the  better  for  it,"  she 
said. 

"Take  away  the  best  of  life,  and  what  is  left?"  he 
asked,  with  his  broken  voice,  which  had  been  so  stron- 
and  manly  only  a  little  while  before.  "Or  break  the 
heart,  and  what's  the  man,  afterwards  ?  " 

Mrs.  Barbury's  answer  was  ready,  as  if  the  question 
had  come  to  her  years  ago. 

"A  'broken  heart'  is  the  very  thing  that  God  asks 
for;  and  if  it  will  do  for  Him,  it  may  do  for  this  world  " 
she  said.  "  I  know  what  a  woman  can  do,  James,  when 
sue  must,  and  I  think  a  man  should  do  as  much  " 

feelifj^i  "  ^"^  ^'"^  *'''"'' '  "  ^''  ^'^'^-     "  ^°'  ^y  5^^"^  «^n 

O    * 

"  Yes,  by-  my  own  feeling !  " 

The  young  man  looked  up  at  the  fair,  kindly  face, 


■  l     * 


fi4 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


which,  in  familiarity  with  the  free  air,  had  given  away 
some  of  its  softness,  but  had  it's  Avide,  clear  eye  un- 
changed, and  gentle  mouth. 

We,  young,  are  often  bewildered  by  a  glimpse  of  the 
unpublished  history  of  some  one  of  our  elders :  (for  the 
best  of  these  are  unwritten,  and  we  sometimes  catch  a 
glance  at  them.)— Ah !  covetousness,  or  low  ambition,  or 
earnest  drudgery,  as  v-H  a3  hati-ed  of  mankind,  or  mad- 
ness, or  too  early  deau.  uas  taken  many  a  one  that  led 
another  life,  up  to  a  certain  time ;  and  then  it  was  broken 
off! 

So,  too,  a  happy  peacefulness  and  quiet  strength  have 
taken  place,  like  sunshine,  and  a  new,  green  growth,  in 
many  a  heart  where  the  fierce  tempest  had  laid  waste. 
It  may  have  been  so  with  Skipper  George's  wife. 

"You'd  never  know  from  the  water,  when  it  lays 
smooth  in  the  sun,"  she  said,  presently,  «  what  storms  it 
had  been  in,  outside. — I  was  as  young  as  you  or  Lucy, 
once." 

She  smiled,  and  it  seemed  almost  as  if  her  young  self;^ 
fair  and  happy,  came,  at  a  call,  up  within  her,  and  looked 
out  at  her  eyes  and  glowed  behind  her  cheek.  Urston 
could  not  help  listening. 

"I  was  brought  up  in  England,  you  know,  from  a 
child,  in  Mrs.  Grose's  family.  I  was  a  play-fellow  with 
the  children,  and  then  maid. — One  time,  I  found  I  was 
going  to  be  wretched,  if  I  didn't  take  care,  for  the  sake 
of  one  that  wasn't  for  me ;  and  so  I  went  into  my  room, 
and  didn't  come  the  first  time  I  was  called ;  but  when  I 
did,  I  was  as  strong  as  I  am  now." 

"  You  weren't  in  love  !  "  said  Urston. 

"I  wasn't,  afterwards:  but  I  was  much  like  you, 
before — only,  I  wasn't  a  man." 


TRUE  WORDS  ARE  SOMETIMES   VERY   HEAVY.      55 

She  was  as  calm  and  strong  in  telling  her  little  stoiy, 
as  if  it  had  not  once  touched  her  very  life.  So  the  boat 
swims,  full-sailed  and  fearless,  over  the  rock,  on  which, 
one  day,  at  half-tide,  it  had  struck. 

"Not  everyone  can  go  through,  so  easily,"  said  the 
young  man,  moodily. 

"James  Urston  ! »  said  she,  looking  steadily  in  his  face, 
"you're  a  man,  and  women's  feelings  are  not  the  easiest 
to  get  over." 

"Weli,  I  can't  stay  here,"  said  he,  looking  out  sea- 
ward, as  so  many  young  lovers  have  done,  before  and 
since ;  some  of  whom  have  gone  forth  wanderers,  accord- 
ing to  their  word,  and  helped  to  fill  the  breath  of  the 
Northeast  Wind  with  this  long  wailing  that  we  hear,  and 
some  of  whom  have  overcome  or  been  overcome  by  hard 
things  at  home. 

"Take  it  manfully,"  said  the  woman,  "and  you'U  con- 
quer it." 

He  pressed  his  lips  together,  shook  his  head  once,  with 
a  gesture  of  anguish,  and  then,  straightening  himself  and 
throwing  back  his  head,  walked  up  the  harbor. 

"  Hs  fst  tint  alte  e5esci)fc|)tc, 
Zanlr  flcljt  mms  e&rosses  trabef ; 
Docf)  tuem  c»  tbtn  passfret 
3Btm  brfc|)t  lias  f^tt}  entjtoef/'  * 

It's  only  an  old,  old  storj', 
That  there  goes  but  little  to  make : 
Yet  to  whomso  it  happens, 
His  heart  In  two  must  break. 

So  sings,  most  touchingly,  the  German  poet,  of  love 


*  Wefne. 


W'\ 


56 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


with  cruel  scorn  tossed  back.  He  sang  out  of  a  heart 
that  knew  what  was  the  dreadful  crush,  and  dizzying,  de- 
stroying backset  of  the  life's  flood,  when  its  so  many  chan- 
nels, torn  from  their  fastenings  in  another's  being,  lie 
huddled  upon  themselves. 

A  little  further  up  the  road,  there  is  on  the  left  hand, 
where  the  hill  goes  down — rocky,  and  soddy,  and  stony — 
to  the  beach,  a  little  stream,  that  loiters  (as  it  leaves  the 
boiom  of  the  earth  and  comes  out  into  the  air,)  just  long 
enough  to  fill  up  a  hollow  with  its  clear,  cool  water, 
and  then  goes  gurgling  on  its  short  way  to  the  salt  sea. 
There  is  no  superstition  in  the  regard  the  neighbors  have 
for  this  spring ;  but  everybody  knows  the  place,  and  some 
have  tender  memories  connected  with  it,  from  gatherings 
of  lads  and  maids  about  it  in  the  clear  summer  evenings. 
Har-pool,  (or  Ilare-pool,)  they  call  it. 

If  James  had  thought  of  this  association,  (perhaps  he 
did,)  it  would  have  given  another  touch,  still,  to  his  sad- 
ness, to  remind  himself  of  it  at  the  spot ;  but  he  crossed 
over,  and  went  down  to  it,  and,  where  the  streamlet  fell 
out  of  its  basin,  caught  the  cool  water  in  his  hand,  and 
bathed  his  brow,  and  drank. 

His  side  was  toward  the  sun,  that  came  along,  as  he 
does,  in  his  strong  way,  not  hindered  by  our  unreadiness. 
The  young  man's  shadow,  long  and  large,  was  thrown 
upon  the  hill-side.  Another  shadow  joined  it.  He 
turned  hastily,  and  saw  the  old  parish-clerk,  Mr.  "William- 
son coming.  He  went  out  into  the  road ;  met  him,  ex- 
changing salutations ;  passed  under  the  Crossway-Flake, 
and  down  the  harbor. 


SKIPPER  GEORGE. 


67 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


SKIPPER  George's  stort. 


N  the  evening  of  that  day,  which  had  been  beautiful 
to  the  end,  Skipper  George's  daughter  seemed  more 
full  of  life  than  ever.     In  the  last  hour  of  daylight 
she  had  given  her  lesson  to  her  little  sister,  who  was  no 
great  proficient  at  learning,  and  who  was,  by  degrees, 
(like  some  other  children,  with  other  words,)  getting  broken 
of  making  "  c-o-d  "  spell  "  fish."     She  tripped  across  the 
even  ground  in  front  of  the  house,  to  meet  her  father,  with 
a  lighter  step  than  usual,  and  was  busier  than  ever  within 
doors.     When  supper  was   over,  and  after   the    three- 
wicked  lamp  in  the  chimney  was  lighted,  she  read,  out 
of  a  book  that  Miss  Dare  had  lent  her,  a  story  of  an 
ancient  mariner,  and  his  strange  voyage ;  while  the  mother 
knitted  a  pair  of  woollen  leggings  for  her  husband,  and  the 
stout  fisher  sat  upright,  with  Janie  on  his  knee,  sometimes 
looking  at  his  daughter  as  she  read,  and  sometimes  looking, 
musingly,  into  the  fire,  where  the  round  bake-pot  stood, 
covered  with  its  blazing  «  splits,"  and  tinkled  quietly  to 
itself.  ^ 

George  Barbury  was  a  large,  strong-bodied  man,  more 
than  six  feet  in  height,  with  a  broad  chest,  and  every  way 
a  pattern  of  a  stout,  healthy  fisherman.  His  rusty  clothes, 
—jacket,  and  vest,  and  trowsers,— patched  evenly  and 
cleanly  at  the  knees  and  elbows,  had  a  manly  look;  so 


56 


THE  NEW  PRIEST, 


had  his  ahoes,  with  their  twine-ties,  and  his  strong,  thick- 
nbbed  stockings,  and  thick  woollen  shirt,  ahd  plain  black 
'kerchief  round  his  neck;  but,  above  all,  that  weather- 
beaten  face  of  his,  with  grizzled  whiskers  half-way  down, 
and  the  kind,  simple  eyes,  that  looked  out  over  all  at  one, 
and  the  bald  head,  with  grizzled,  curling  locks,  of  those  that 
always  look  as  if  they  never  grew  beyond  a  certain  length 
and  never  needed  cutting.     All  this  great,  massive  he°ad 
and  kindly  face  were  open  now,  for,  in  deference  to  the 
readmg,*  he  sat  uncovered.     The  little  girl  had  listened, 
at  first,  with  gi-eat  interest,  to  the  wondrous  rhyme,  but 
was  soon  asleep,  with  one  arir.  stretched  at  length  over 
her  father's,  with  the  little,  busy  hand  at  rest,  having 
dropped  the  chip  which,  at  first,  had  illustrated  the  story; 
one  wmg  of  her  cap  was  pushed  up  from  her  chubby  face, 
and  one  stout  little  leg  was  thrust  forth,  so  as  to  show  a 
shoe  studded  with  nail-heads  all  around  the  sole. 

The  daughter,  by  natural  gift  of  God  and  happy  growth, 
was,  m  some  ways,  a  different  being  from  her  parents. 
Much  beauty  of  outward  things,  much  beauty  of  inward 
thoughts,  and  an  ideal  world,-with  its  sky  above,  and 
earth  and  boundless  sea  below,-which  lies  in  the  mind 
of  every  speaking  or  mute  poet,  as  the  old  Platonists  sup- 
posed  u  to  lie  in  the  divine  mind;-these  things  this  girl 
saw,  and  her  parents  saw  not;  even  her  mother,  only 
partly.     In  the  vision  of  these,  the  daughter  was  beyond 
the  one;  apart  from  the  other.     But  in  how  much  more 
had  she  deep  sympathy  with  them  and  kindred  to  them 
because  she  had  lost  nothing  while  she  had  gained  so' 
much!      All  human   hearts   and   minds   that   have   not 
quenched  thai  light  of  Christ  "  that  lighteth  every  man 
that  Cometh  into  the  world,"  can  know  and  feel  truth, 
*  Their  readings  are  generally  from  the  Bible  and  Prayer-book. 


SKIPPER  GEORGE. 


59 


heartiness,  manliness,  womanliness,  childlikeness,  at  sight, 
much  or  a  little ;  and  the  conscience  which  Lucy  brout'ht 
to  judge  of  higher  things  and  things  farther,  was  the  self- 
same that  the  rest  of  them  applied  to  lower  and  near 
things.  Some  sentences  of  false  religion  she  quietly 
changed  in  reading,  and  only  spoke  of  them  when  all  was 
done. 

The  fisherman  approved  the  painting  of  the  icebergs, 
and  the  bending  over,  and  pitching  and  swaying  of  the 
ship,  and  the  shaking  of  the  sails,  and  the  dropping  down 

"  Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill, 
Below  the  light-house  top," 

and  the  mother  approved  the  moral  that  bade  us  love  all 
things,  both  great  and  small,  after  that  more  than  once 
the  tears  had  come  to  her  eyes  as  she  sat  knitting ;  and 
Lucy's  voice,  as  gentle  and  musical,  and  clear  as  the  gur- 
gle of  a  brook  that  the  rain  has  filled,  would  sometimes 
run  fuller,  and  sometimes  break,  and  sometimes  cease  to 
be  heard  for  a  while,  and  she  would  sit  and  gaze  at  the 
burning  lamp  or  the  fire,  or  up  through  the  wide  chimney 
at  the  starry  sky ;  and  they  all  thought  that  the  words 
about  the  silent  sea,  and  the  wondrous  harmonies  made 
by  the  blessed  spirits  through  the  sailors'  bodies,  were  ex- 
ceeding beautiful.  And  after  it  was  done,  the  father  and 
mother,  and  the  bright  girl,— who  had  so  many  more,  and 
so  much  fiiirer,  fancies  than  they,— all  agreed  in  this  judg- " 
meat :  that  no  man  had  a  right  to  bring  false  religion,  or 
a  lie  against  the  honor  of  God,  into  poetry,  any  more 
than  into  the  catechism. 

"  'Tis  n'  right  to  put  in  about '  Mary,  Queen,'  and  the 
'Mother  of  Heaven,'— for  I  suppose  'e  was  a  larn'd  man 
that  could  write  what  'e  woul',  Lucy  ?  "  said  the  father,  in 
a  tone  of  regret ;  « 'e  should  n'  help  the  wrong,  when 


lii 


60 


TIIK   NKW    PlilKST. 


'^ 


ill! 


there'8  so  many  taken  by  it,  and  mubbe  lost  forever! 
We  got  no  right  to  '  make  mention  o'  they  names  within 
our  lips,'  as  the  psalm  says." 

The  mother  spoke,  perhaps  not  less  sadly,  but  more 
severely : 

"Yes,  child,  it's  just  that  part  will  do  mischief;" — the 
mother  had  been  a  Roman  Catholic,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered. "  They  can't  go  such  a  voyage,  or  see  such  sights, 
but  they  can  call  her  queen,  and  pray  to  her." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  bright-eyed  daughter.  "  It's 
all  a  wiiu  thing,  and  one  part  no  more  true  than  another ; 
but  I  think  it  might  do  mischief." 

"  And  it's  not  well  having  much  to  do  with  Roman 
Catholics,"  continued  the  mother,  more  pointedly,  while 
her  daughter  looked  with  a  fixed  gaze  into  her  face,  drop- 
ping her  eyes  when  her  mother  raised  hers  from  her 
work. 

"  They'm  not  all  bad,"  said  Skipper  George,  "  though 
they're  all  wrong  in  religion  surely.  Thou  wasn't  very 
bad,  Mother,"  he  continued,  with  a  tender  smile  at  his 
wife,  "  when  thou  was  one  o'  them ;  though  'ee  're  better 
sunce,  that's  a  sure  case.  I  walked  a  good  piece  wi'  a 
pleasan'-lookin'  gentleman,  (much  like  a  reverend  gentle- 
man 'e  seemed,)  an'  so  'e  said  we  musn'  think  they'm  all 
bad." 

At  him,  again,  the  daughter  looked  with  a  long,  fixed 
gaze,  holding  her  book  upon. her  knees.  Presently,  the 
fisherman  got  up,  and,  laying  down  his  little  load  at  length 
upon  the  bench,  went  forth  in^o  the  evening. 

A  full,  round  moon  was  shining  in  a  sky  so  clear  that 
it  seemed,  really,  as  if  space  were  empty.  Half  day  it 
was,  and  yet  full  night ;  and  as  the  fisher,  crossing  the 
green  before  his  house,  mounted  the  ridge  and  leaned 


SKiPiT'.i;  Gr:()K(;K. 


61 


against  a  lone  tree  or  must  that  stood  up  from  the  earth 
of  a  cleft  in  the  rocks,  the  hurborroad  below  him  was 
shown  plainly,  and  the  houses  at  its  side,  and  in  the  cove 
not  fur  off,  stood  plainly  outlined,— larger  and  smaller, 
dark  and  white, — some  in  their  own  mclosures,  some  as 
if  there  were  no  land  in  any  way  belonging  to  them  but 
the  public  thoi-oughfare  ;  yet  was  there  no  sight  or  sound 
of  living  thing,  except  the  frequent  bark  of  dogs,  and  the 
innumerable  waves,  rising  and  falling  everywhere,  in  their 
most  glorious  cloth  of  silver,  which  they  wear  only  at 
such  times. 

As  he  stood  silently,  a  man  came  near. 
"A  good  evenun,  sir !    I  beg  pardon  for  makun  so  free 
to  hail'ee,"  said  Skipper  George,  recognizing  the  gentleman 
of  whom  he  had  spoken  a  few  moments  before,  and  who, 
turning  aside,  heartily  gave  back  the  fisher's  greeting. 

"  You  had  the  best  lookout  in  the  neighborhood,"  said 
Mr.  Debree,  walking  to  the  spot  on  which  Skipper  George 
had  been  before  standing  and  looking  abroad  from  it. 
"This  tree  didn't  grow  here,"  said  he,  looking  up  at 
the  gray  trunk  glistening  in  the  moonlight. 
"  No,  sir ;  'twas  set  there,"  said  the  fisherman. 
"Is  it  a  landmark?" 

"  'Is,  sir,  it  may  be,  in  a  manner ;  but  not  for  s'ilun  on 
those  waters.     'Twas  set  there  when  riches  was  taken  " 
aw'y.     Riches  came  agen,  but  'twas  laved,  for  'e'd  larned 
partly  how  to  value  riches." 

The  gentleman  looked,  as  the  moonlight  showed,  inter- 
estedly at  the  speaker :  «  Another  story  with  a  lesson  in 
It  ? "  he  said.  "  If  it  were  not  for  keeping  you  out  so  late, 
I  would  ask  you  to  do  me  the  favor  of  telling  it." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Skipper  George.  "  I  said  there  were 
amany  lessons  sent  us.     This  one  corned  nearer  to  me 


•<\:    .M 


62 


THK   NEW   PRFKST. 


'  'II. 


*        t 


is  I 


again  than  tlie  tother.  I  hope  I've  larned  sonu'thun  by 
that  story  I  Fishermen  don't  heed  nij^ht  hours  much: 
but  it's  late  for  you  as  well,  sir.  Mubbe  *ee'd  plase  to 
walk  inside  a  bit?"  he  asked,  with  modest  urgency. 
"  It's  a  short  story,  only  a  heavy  one  !  " 

"  Another  time,  perhaps,"  said  the  strange  gentleman ; 
"  not  now,  if  you'll  excuse  me  ;  but  if  it  wouldn't  be  too 
much  trouble  I  would  thank  you  for  it  where  we  are. 
One  hour  or  another  is  much  the  same  to  me." 

At  the  first  words  of  this  answer  Skipper  George 
turned  a  look  of  surprise  at  the  stranger,  and  when  the 
latter  had  finished  speaking  asked, 

"  Be  'ee  stayun  hereabouts,  then,  sir  ?  " 

Perhaps  he  may  have  thought  it  strange  that  one  who 
looked  60  like  a  clergyman  should  be  staying  ibr  any 
length  of  time  in  the  neighborhood  without  being  better 
known. 

"  I  am  a  clergyman,"  said  the  gentleman,  frankly ; 
*'  but  not  of  your  church ;  and  I  don't  feel  free  until  I'm 
better  known." 

Skipper  George  apparently  weighed  the  answer.  He 
did  not  urge  his  invitation ;  but  his  open  face  became 
clear  and  kindly  as  ever. 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  he,  "  ef  'ee'd  plase  to  be  seated  here, 
I'd  tell  the  story.     I  know  it  well." 

Before  beginning  it  the  fisherman  cast  a  look  at  his 
house,  and  then  gazed  awhile  upon  the  restless  waves 
which  here  glanced  with  the  gleam  of  treacherous  eyes, 
and  there  were  dark  as  death. 

"  Do  'ee  mind  about  ten  years  ago,  in  Newfoundland, 
sir  ?  "  began  Skipper  George,  turning  his  steady  eyes  to 
his  hearer,  and  speaking  as  if  the  date  or  the  years 
since   the   date  had   been   painful   to    him;    "the    Isard 


■SKII'l'KK  GKORQE. 


98 


year  that  was  when  they  had  the  'rallH,'  they  called 

"Yes;  though  f  was  in  England  at  the  time,  I  know 
pretty  well  what  happened  in  Newfoundland.  It  was  a 
«ad  time." 

"  Ay,  sir    'twas  a  sad  time.     Many  people  suffered  : 
some  wanted  food,  and  more  agen  got  broken  in  spirit, 
(and  thats  bad  for  a  man,)  and  some  got  lawless  like. 
Iwus  a  sad  time,  indeed!"     8ki),per  George,  having 
lingered  thus  before  his  tale,  began  it  abruptly :     -  Well 
sn-,  twas  on  the  sixteen   day  of  January,_a  Thursda^ 
twas,-!  was  acomun  down   Backside  from   the   Cosh 
hauhng  a  slide-load  o'  timber,  an'  my  youngest  son  wi' 
««e.     It  had  abeen  a  fine  day,  first  goun  off,  (for  a  win- 
tei  s  day,)  wi  just  a  flurry  o'  snow  now  and  agen,  and  a 
dea  o  snow  on  the  ground,  lull  about  afternoon  it  beg.m 
0  blow  from  about  west  and  by  nothe,  or  thereaway, 
heavy  and  tluck,  an'  growun   heavier  an'  heavier,  an' 
bittev  cold     Oh  !  'twas  bitter  cold !     We  did  n'  say  much 
together  George  an'  I,  but  we  got  along  so  fast  as  ever 
we  eould.      Iwas  about  an  hour  or  two  before  night, 
mubbe;  and  George  says  to  me,  *  Let's  lave  the  slL 
leather        'Twas  n'    but  we  could  ha'  kep'  on   wi'  it 
hough  twas  tarrible  cold,  hard  work  ;  but  'twas  some^ 
iiiun  else ! 

"  So  we  turned  the  slide  out  o'  the  way  and  laved  her, 
and  corned  on.     'Twas  blowun  gales  up  over  Backside 
we  could  sca'ce  keep  our  feet;  an'  I  hard  somethun  like  a 
vo,ce_i   ,j,p^^^  I  ^a,  t,,i„kun  o'  voices-an'  I  brought 
nght  up  mto  the  wind.     'Twas  Just  like  beun  at  sea,  in  a 

would  ha  been  out  o'  sight  an'  hearun  in  a  minute.    Then 
knowed  by  the  sound  'twas  the  Minister-(we  did  n' 


u 


THE  NKW  PRIKST. 


have  e'er  u  reverend  gentleman  of  our  own  in  they  days  ; 
but  'e  lived  over  in  Sandy  Harbor  and  'e'd  ooae  to  go  all 
round  the  Bay.)  We  could  sca'ce  bid*;  together,  but  1 
was  proper  glad  to  meet  un,  (for  a  minister's  a  comfort, 
'ee  know,  sir;)  an'  'e  said,  '  Js  am/  body  out?'  'There's 
two  o'  brother  Izik's  orphans,  sir,  I'm  aleared,  an'  others 
along  wi'  'em,*  I  said.     So  'e  said,  '  God   help   them ! ' 

♦  Where  are  your  two  other  boys,  James  and  Maunsell  ? ' 

♦  Along  wi'  brother  Izik's  two,'  I  said.  'Twas  blowun 
tarrible  hard,  and  cold,  and  thick;  an'  the  Minister 
turned  wi'  us,  and  we  corned  up,  ploddun  through  the 
driftun  snow,  and  over  the  rudge.  When  we  opened  the 
door,  first  the  mother  thought  there  was  four  of  us  ;  and 
so  she  said,  *  James ! '  for  we  was  all  snowed  over  ;  but 
she  sid  there  was  only  three,  and  'twas  the  Minister  wi* 
us  two.  So  she  begged  his  pardon,  an'  told  un  our  [)oor 
boys  were  out  agunnun,  an'  she  was  an  ole  punt  they  had. 
We  were  all  standun  (for  we  didn'  think  o'  nawthin  but 
the  boys)  when  two  comed  into  the  door  all  white  wi* 
snow.  'Twas  n'  they  two,  sir,  but  *twas  my  nevy  Jesse 
an'  another.  '  Ha-en't  they  comed ? '  *e  said.  '  Dear, 
what's  keepun  they  ?  * 

"Jesse  had  abin  out,  too,  wi'  Izik  Maffen  and  Zipplty 
Marchanl,  an'  they  were  all  over  to  back-side  o'  Sandy 
Harbor  together ;  on'y  our  poor  young  men  were  about 
three  parts  of  a  mile  further  down,  mubbe.  So.  when  it 
comed  on  to  blow,  Jesse  an'  his  crew  made  straight  ibr 
Back-Cove  an'  got  in,  though  they  wei-e  weak-handed, 
for  one  had  hurted  his  hand-wrist, — and  so,  in  about 
three  hours,  they  got  round  by  land,  an'  thought  the 
tother  poor  fellows  would  do  so  well.  '  What  can  us  do. 
Uncle  Georgie  ?  '  'e  said  ;  for  he's  a  proper  true-hearted 
man,  sir,  an'  'e  was  a'raos'  cryun.     '  First,  we  can  pray, 


SKIl'PKK   (iKOKUK. 


05 


«a.d  the  Mnnster ;  nn'  so  he  .aid  «  prayer.     I  n,ake  no 
doubt  I  was  th.r.kun  t.,o  mach  ov<.r  the  poor  yo......  fol- 
lows ;  and  fho  wind  nmde  a  tar.il.l,.  j^.-eat  bellowing,  down 
the  chnnh.y  and  all  round  the  h..u...  an'  so  1  wa.  ruther 
awy  t.-om  it  more  'an  1  ouj,d.t.     Then  the  Minister  an' 
Jesse  an    I  started  out.     My  n.i.stn.ss  didn'  want  n.e  to 
go ;  but  I  eo.ddn'  bide  ;  an'  so,  atbre  we'd  made  nua-h 
wy  up  harbor  agen  the  wind,  an' growun  dark,  Ohou-W, 
twasn  snowu,),)  we  met  a  man  comun  Cro.n  tother  side 
Abram  Frank,  an'  'e  said  last  that  was  seen  of  our  fbu.^ 
was,  they  were    pullun  in  for   Ilobbis's   Iloh,,  an'  then 
somothun  seemed  to  give  way  like,  wi'  one  of  'em  rowun 
an'  then    they  gave  over  and    put  her  aw'y  before  the' 
wnid,  an'  so  as  long  as  they  eould  see  any  thin-  of  'em 
one  was   standun  up  sculling  astarn.      (That  "was  my 
James,  sir  !  ")  "^ 

A  very  long,  gently-breathed  sigh  here  made  itself 
heard  m  the  deep  hush,  and  as  Mr.  Debree  turned  he 
saw  the  sweet  face  of  Skipper  George's  daughter  turned 
up  to  her  fatlier,  with  tears  swimming  in  both  eyes  and 
ghstenmg  on  her  cheek.  She  had  come  up  behind,  and 
now  possessed  herself  quietly  of  her  father's  hand. 

"  So  we  turned  back,  an'  the  Minister  wi'  us,  ('twas  a 
cruel  night  to  be  out  in,)  an'  the  wind  a'mos'  took  an' 
lifted  us,  an'  sot  us  down  by  the  foot  o'  the  path  over  the 
n.dge ;  but  when  we  got  atop  here,  and  it  comed  athwart, 
't  brought  us  all  down  kneelun,  an'  we  could  sca'ce  get 
over  to  the  door.  The  poor  mother  got  up  from  the 
c  umley-corner  and  came  for'ard,  but  she  needn'  ask  any 
U.in;  an  there  was  a  pretty  young  thing  by  the  fire 
{(/'■IS  girl  was  a  little  thing,  asleep,  but  there  was  a  pretty 
young  thing  there)  that  never  got  up  nor  looked  round ; 
tvv-as  Mdly  Ressle,  that  was  troth-plight  to  James.    They 


66 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


<j  ;i 


was  to  have  been  married  in  a  week,  ef  the  Lord  willed ; 
and  'twas  for  'e's  house  we  were  drawun  out  the  timber. 
She  just  rocked  herself  on  the  bench. — She's  gone,  long 
enough  ago,  now,  sir ! 

"  So  the  Minister  took  the  Book,  and  read  a  bit.  I 
heard  un,  an'  I  didn'  hear  un;  for  I  was  aw'y  out  upon 
the  stormy  waters  wi'  the  poor  young  men.  Oh,  what 
a  night  it  was  !  it's  no  use !  blowun  an'  bellowun  an' 
freezun,  an'  ice  all  along  shore  to  leeward ! 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  about  two  hours  o'  night,  there  comed 
a  lull,  an'  then  there  was  a  push  or  shake  at  the  door,  an' 
another, — an'  another, — an'  another, — (so  it  was,  we  all 
thought,)  and  then  the  door  banged  open.  There  wasn' 
a  one  of  us  but  was  standun  upon  'is  feet,  an'  starun  out 
from  the  kitchun,  when  it  opened.  'Twas  nawthing  but 
cold  blasts  comed  in,  an'  then  a  lull  agen  for  a  second  or 
two.  So  I  shut  to  the  door ;  an'  the  poor  mother  broke 
out  acryun,  an'  poor  Milly  fell  oyer,  an'  slipped  right 
down  upon  the  hearthstone.  We  had  a  heavy  time  of  it 
that  night,  sir  ;  but  when  the  door  banged  open  that  time, 
this  child  that  was  a  little  thing  then,  lyun  upon  the 
bench  sleepun,  made  a  soart  of  a  gurgle,  like,  when  the 
first  sound  comed  to  the  door,  and  then  when  the  flaws 
o'  wind  comed  in  she  smiled,  and  smiled  agen,  and 
laughed,  as  ef  a  body  m'y  be  sayun  pooty  things  to  her 
in  d'y-time.  Jesse  sid  it,  an'  plucked  me  by  the  coat- 
sleeve,  and  T  sid  it,  too. 

'•  Well,  sir,  night  passed :  'ee  may  be  sure  we  didn' 
sleep  much,  on'y  cat-naps ;  and  once  or  twioe  I  failed 
into  a  kind  of  a  d wall  *  an'  started,  thinkun  they  was 
speakun  to  me.  Mornun  comed  slow  and  cold — colder 
than  night.     So  the  nighbors  comed  in  at  mornun,  and 

*  Doze. 


SKIPPER   GKORGE. 


67 


sat  by ;  and  now  an'  agen  one  'ould  say  they  were  fine 
young  men  ;  an'  after  a  bit  another  'd  say  James  was  a 
brave  heart,  and  how  he  saved  a  boat's  crew  three  years 
ago,  seullun  them  into  B'y-IIarbor ;  an'  so  they  said  how 
he  begun  to  teach  in  Sunday-school  Sunday  before ;  an' 
how  brave  'e  was,  when  they  sid  the  last  of  un,  scuUun 
aw  y  round  the  point  and  over  the  b'y,  for  t'other  side, 
or  for  Beli-Isle,  or  some  place  to  leeward.     So  they  said 
James  'ould  take  'em  safe,  plase  God,  an'  we'd  hear  of 
em  some  place  over  the  b'y  in  a  d'y  or  two.      Then 
they  said  they  wondered  ef  the  young  men  could  ko.p 
from  freezun  their  handes,  an'  said  mubbe  they  wouldn' 
git  touched,  for  they  was  all  well-clothed,  an'  James  'ould 
keep  up  their  spirits,  an'  brother  Izik's  little  George  was 
a  merry  boy,  an'  grout  play-game  for  the  rest ;  an'  my 
Maunsell  an'  'e's  tother  cousin,  John,  were  steady  young 
men,  an'  wouldn'  give  up  very  easy;  but  they  were  both 
quiet,  and  looked  up  lo  James,  though  John  was  a  good 
bit  older. 

«  Wull,  sir,  the  day  went   on,  cold,  cold,  an'  blowun 
heavy,  an'  the  water  black  an'  white,  wi'  white  shores,  an' 
slob-ice  all  along  ;_an'  more,  agen,  an'  heavier,  to  lee- 
ward,  sartenly.     We  could  n'  stir  hand  or  foot  that  day, 
nor  next,  but  the  Lord's  day  came  in  softer,  an'  we  got 
a  good   crew  an'  u   stout   punt   to   sarch  for   the  four 
poor  boys  that  had  been  three  days  a  missun,  and  old  Mr. 
Williamson,  the  clerk  that  is  now,  sir,*  made  a  prayer 
over  us  before  we  laved.     When  we  come  to  put  off,  they 
left  me  standun ;  I  make  no  doubt  but  Jesse  maned  to 
spare  me ;  but  I  called  un  back,  for  I  said,  why  should  I 
be  settun  wi'  my  hands  folded,  or  walking  about,  lookun 
out  over  the  water,  and  I  may  just  so  well  be  doun  some- 

*  Parish-clerk. 


m  - 


,  ?■< 


ill'' 


I.  i 


68 


THK   NEW    PKIKST. 


i(        ifi 


r? 


thun  like  a  father  for  my  sons  an'  for  my  brother's  or- 
phans  ? 

"We  made  for  Broad  Cove;  for  so  we  thought  the 
wind  would  ha'  driven  the  poor  young  fellows  a-Thursday ; 
but  wo  couldn'  get  into  Broad  Cove,  for  the  slob  an'  cakes 
of  ice.     The  shore  looked  tarrible  cruel ! " 

Skipper  George  sate  thoughtful  a  moment,  and  then 
began  again. 

"At  Port'gal  Cove,"  he  continued,  looking  over  the 
water,  "  they  did  n'  know  about  e'er  a  punt,  an'  no  more 
they  did  n'  at  Broad  Cove,  nor  Holly- Rood ;  for  we  staid 
three  days,  an'  walked  an'  sarched  all  over.  An'  so  a 
Thursday  morn  agen  we  corned  back  home ; — 'twas  cold, 
but  still.  So  when  we  comed  round  Peterport-Point, 
(that's  it  over  at  the  outside  o'  Blazun  Head,  yonder,) 
every  man,  a'most,  looked  over  his  shoulder,  thinkun 
mubbe  they'd  got  in ;  but  'twas  n'  so.  They  had  n'  come, 
nor  they  hadn'  been  hard  from.  So  my  mistress,  an' 
Milly,  an'  George,  an'  I,  an'  this  maid  kneeled  down  after 
I'd  told  'em  how  'twas,  an'  prayed  to  the  good  Lord. 

"An'  so  we  waited,  an'  did  n'  hear  from  the  four  pooi 
boys,  not  for  a  good  many  days  ! " 

Skipper  George  stopped  here  again  for  a  while. 

"Awell,  sir,  then  there  comed  word  over,  that  some 
men  had  abin  found  at  Broad  Cove ! — It  was  n'  known 
who  they  were ;  but  we  knowed.  So  they  got  Mr.  Wor- 
ntjr's  boat,  an'  a  crew  of  'em  went  round,  an'  Skipper 
'Enery  Ressle,  an'  Skipper  Izik  Ressle  (that  was  Milly's 
fiither,)  an'  Skipper  Izik  Marchant,  ('e  was  n'  Skipper 
then,  however,)  but  a  many  friends  goed  in  her, — I  could 
n'  go  that  time,  sir. 

"  'Twas  about  sun-goun-down,  she  comed  in.  Never  a 
word  nor  a  sound !      She  looked  black,  seemunly ;  an'  no 


'  11 


SKIPPER   GEORGE. 


69 


nor 


flag.- 


'Twas    they!      Sure   enough,    'twas 


colors 
they! 

"A  man  had  sid  a  punt  all  covered  wi'  ice,  an'  hauled 
her  up ;  an'  when  he  corned  to  clear  away  the  ice,  there 
was  a  man,  seemunly,  in  the  for'ard  part !  He  called 
the  nighbors ;  an',  sure  enough,  there  'e  was,  an'  another 
one,  along  wi'  un ;  an'  both  seemunly  a-kneelun  an'  leanun 
over  the  for'ard  th'art.  They  were  the  two  brothers, 
John  an'  little  George,  frozen  stiff,  an'  two  arms  locked  to- 
gether !  They  died  pr'yun,  sir,  most  likely ;  so  it  seemed. 
They  was  good  lads,  sir,  an'  they  knowed  their  God ! 

"  So,  then,  they  thought  there  was  n'  no  more " 

The  fisherman  here  made  a  longer  pause,  and  getting 
up  from  his  seat,  said  "  I'll  be  back,  after  a  bit  sir ; "  and 
walking  away  from  Mr.  Debree  and  his  daughter,  stood 
for  a  little  while  with  his  back  toward  them  and  his  head 
bare. 

The  maiden  bent  her  gentle  face  upon  her  knee  within 
her  two  hands.  The  moonlight  glossed  her  rich  black 
hair,  glanced  from  her  white  cap,  and  gave  a  grace  to 
her  bended  neck.  At  the  first  motion  of  her  father  to 
turn  about,  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  awaited  him.  Upon 
him  too,— on  his  head,  bared  of  its  hair,  above,  on  his 
broad,  manly  front,  and  on  his  steady  eye,— the  moonlight 
fell  beautifully.     Mr.  Debree  rose,  also,  to  wait  for  him. 

Skipper  George  came  back  and  took  up  his  broken 
story. 

"  Bumbye,  sir,  when  they  comed  to  the  after-part  of 
the  boat,  there  they  found  a  young  man  lyun  in  the  starn- 
sheets,  wi'  no  coat,  an'  his— an'  his— his  poor,  lovun  arm 
under  'is  brother's  neck;— an'  the  tother  had  the  jacket 
rolled  up  for  a  pillow  under  his  head,  an'  I  suppose  'e 
died  there,  sleepun  upon  the  jacket,  that  'is  brother  rolled 
up  for  un." 


ir 


70 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


llf 
I.*- 

hi 


l.'<* 


i 

\ 

it    ^ 
\t>  '. 

!  f  ' 


^  li 


'  11 


1-  ^ 


li 


Tho  voico  of  the  fiithnr  was  very  tender  ant\  touching; 
but  he  (li«i  not  give  wivy  to  trars. 

"  So,  sir,  that  young  n\an  hmi  done  'is  part,  and  sculled 
'cm  safe  right  along  wi'  the  tarril.le  cruel  gale,  aw'y  over 
n  tAventy  miles  or  more,  to  a  sai\^  cove,  an'  his  hand- 
wristes  wer.!  all  worn  aw'y  wi'  workim  at  the  oar ;  but  'o 
never  thought  of  a  cruel  gate  of  ice  right  afore  the  cove  ; 
an'  so  wo  made  no  doubt  when  'e  found  that,  in  dark 
ni-ht,  and  fou.ul  'e  could  n'  get  through,  nor  'o  coul.l  n' 
wiilk  over,  then  'e  gave  hisself  up  to  his  (iod,  an'  laid 
down,  an'  piit  his  tired  arm  round  his  brotlier ;  an'  so 
there  they  were,  sir,  in  short  afl(!r  that,  (it  ouldu'  ha' 
been   long,)    there   was   four   dead   men    in    their   boat, 
awaitun,  outride  o'  llroad  Cove,  tuU  some  one  'ould  come 
ftu'  take  then-  poor  bodies,  an'  strip  aw'y  the  ice  from  'era 
an'  put  'em  in  the  ground,  that  comes  more  nafral,  m 

a  manner,  sir ! 

.*_Theydid  n' find  e'er  an  oar,— whatever  becomed 
of  'em;  but  they  found  tlieir  poor  guns,  mi'  the  two  or- 
phans had  their  names  cut  'John  Barbury,'  an' '  George 
Barbury,'  an'  one  of  'em  had  '  Pet-'  for  Peterport,  an' 
couldii'  cut  no  more,  for  cold— an'  death. 

"There  was  three  guns  cut;  an'  one  liad  'James 
Barb—,'  that  poor  Maunsell  must  ha'  cut,  poor  fellow, 
afore  the  deadly  cold  killed  un.  So  the  kind  people  that 
found  the  poor  boys,  they  thought  James  was  a  respectable 
young  man,  an'  when  they  comed  to  lay  'em  out,  m  the 
school-house,  (they  were  proper  kind,  sir,)  they  put  a 
ruffle-shirt  on  him,  o'  linen. 

"  So,  sir,  the  Minister  comed  over  an'  buried  the  dead. 
Four  Collins  were  laid  along  the  aisle,  wi'  a  white  sheet 
over  every  one,  because  we  had  n'  palls:  James,  an' 
Maunsell,  of  George,  an'  John,  an'  little  George,  of  Izik; 


tfi 


SKIPPKR   GKORGE. 


71 


nn'  wo  put  two  brothers  in  one  grave,  an'  two  brothera  in 
juiotbnr,  side  by  side,  an'  cov(irc(l  thorn  I 

"  Th(!n)  was  two  thousand  at  the  funeral ;  an'  when  the 
Minister  couldn'  help  cryun,  so  I  think  a'most  every  one 
cried,  as  ef  'twas  their  own  ;  an'  so  we  hard  that  people 
that  lived  on  Kelley's  Island  hard  singun  goun  by  in  the 
dark,  like  ehantun  we  haves  in  church.  They  said  'twas 
beautiful,  (H)inun  up  an'  dyun  aw'y,  an'  so,  goun  aw'y 
wi'  tii(!  wind.  It's  very  like,  sir,  as  Paul  an'  Silas  sang 
in  prison,  vso  they  sang  in  storm ! 

"  Then  Milly,  poor  thing,  that  never  good  back  to  'or 
father's  house,  took  a  cold  at  the  funeral,  seomrnly,  an' 
she  died  in  James's  bed  a  three  weeks  after  I  She  was 
out  of  her  mind,  too,  poor  thing!" 

After  another  silence,  in  which  Skipper  George  gazed 
upon  th(!  r(!st.l(!ss  deej),  he  said, 

"  I  brought  home  wi'  me  the  best  stick  from  the  timber, 
and  laved  the  rest,  an'  no  one  ever  touched  it,  an'  there 
it  staid.  So  next  winter,  sir,  my  tother  poor  young  man 
died  in  the  woods,  o'  masles ;  (—thank  God !  we  never 
had  to  move  in  *  till  I  lost  my  fine  boys,)  an'  the  next 
sixteen  day  of  Januai-y  I  set  up  my  pillar,  as  Jacob  set 
his  pillar,  an'  this  is  my  pillar,  sir.  I  said  the  Lord  gived, 
an'  the  Loid  have  tookt  away;  blessed  be  the  name  of 
the  Lord.— All  the  riches  I  had  I  thought  'twas  gone." 

"  You  said  riches  came  again,"  said  T^r  Debree, deeply 
interested  and  affected. 

"Ay,  sir.  My  maid  is  gone  back  to  the  house.  I  can' 
tell  'ee  what  she  is,  sir.  There's  a  plenty  in  the  harbor 
will  speak  o'  Lucy  Barbury,  sir.  I  hope  'r-'^ll  excuse  me 
for  keepin  'ee  so  late." 

"I  thank  you,  with  all  my  heart,  for  that  beautiful 
*  Into  the  woods  to  be  near  fuel. 


!i!5.1 


1 


72 


TITE  NEW    PlilEST. 


Story,"  said  Mr.  Debree,  shaking  the  fisherman's  hand. 
''  Good  night,  Skipper  George !  You  have  learned  a 
lesson,  indeed,  and,  with  God's  grace,  it  shall  do  me  good. 
It's  a  noble  lesson ! " 

"  The  Lord  showed  me  where  to  find  it  in  my  Bible 
an'  my  Pr'yer-book,  sir.      I  wish  'ee  a  good  evenun,  sir." 

So   there  was  a   historic  beauty  (to   those  who 

knew  them)  about  the  girls  in  that  house. 

They  were  the  only  remaining  children  of  George 
Barbury.  Skipper  George,  as  he  was  called,  though  he 
neither  own<j  1  nor  "  sailed "  a  schooner,  had  lost  Ids 
greatest  wealth  (as  things  go  here) — three  fine  sons, — all 
three  in  early  ma^ibood ;  two  at  one  time,  and  afterward 
his  last.  This  was  a  great  loss.  It  made  the  father 
stronger  in  himself,  standing  aloHe  and  stretching  upward ; 
but  it  desolated  this  world  very  much  for  him.  Those 
sons  would  have  enlarged  his  family;  with  them  and 
theirs  he  would  one  day  have  manned  his  schooner  for 
"  the  Larbadore."  *  He  would  have  been  another  man  at 
the  head  of  such  a  race. 

They  were  all  gone  now  ;  and  the  father  was,  perhaps, 
the  better  man  for  it ;  (a  brave,  good,  kindly  man  he 
was ;)  and  the  people  respected  him,  and  they  called  him 
"  Skipper  "  as  a  token  of  respect. 

One  of  these  girls  remained,  and  one  was  given  to  him 
after  his  loss  ;  and  Lucy  had  grown  into  a  young  woman  ; 
and  in  her  case,  most  certainly,  it  was  a  good  thing  that 
her  father  had  made  U[)  his  mind  never  to  set  his  heai't 
on  any  human  thing.  He  had  her  with  him  often  on  the 
water,  and  he  was  glad  to  watch  her  at  her  work  at  home 
and  hear  her  read  ;  yet  stt^adily  he  threw  her  on  herself, 
(in  his  homely  wisdom,)  to  make  a  woman  of  her  ;  and 

*  I,iil)rrt<ior. 


SKIPPER   GEOBGE.  -■ 

himself  looked  out  of  his  more  lonely  life,  „ith  great 
toherly  eye,  upon  her,  rejoieing  i„^,er  bean.y^nd 
g^  dnes,  and  ,ho„.h.f„l„e,s  and  hoping  much  from  her  • 
hut    oun.,,,g  her  as  not  altogether  belonging  ,„  htoself. 

She  had  her  own  end  before  her  from  her  ehildhood 
wluch  seemed  to  be  to  do  her  utmost  work  in  the  wo^l 
and,  firs,  to  fill  her  brothet.'  place.     She  did  not  u7  or' 
t«l    ;  but  she  .«,k  heed,  and  heard,  and  saw,  and  fel 
and  thus  grew  and  learned.     At  ten  yea,,  of  ag   she  fit 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  never  grow  into  aZn 
and  so  fill  „p  her  father's  loss.     When  some  oh  nee    on-' 
versatton  first  brought  her  to  this  point,  (whieh    ver, 

bb  of  to  d"^  'T'  '^'""'^ """'  ™'  -™ "  «-  »^ 

ebb  of  blood;  and  tears  got  as  high  as  the  level  of  her 

tt ?:::";  """»"' r-^'-S  "■■  -y-^.  ^he  knew  that 
was  a  woman  s  plaee  she  was  to  have.     So  in  all  girls- 
ways  she  did  her  ntmos,,and  into  whatever  she  did  or 
learned,  she  threw  het^elf  with  all  her  miH.t 

Her  mother  was  a  most  sensible  woman!  with  mueh  the 

same  spirit  as  her  husband's-  nn,l  i,.- 

r  t"  iiusuanus,  and  benig  younger  bv  ten 

pauon  of  her  daughter.  For  other  teachi,^  than  she  got 
home  and  on  the  water,  there  was  .he°school  wldcl 
M..  Wellon  had  sueeeeded  in  eslaMi.hing,  where  Lucy 
B  rbuty  outlearned  every  thing;  and  Mr.  Wellon,  fin.lin; 
'to  qmet,  pretty  little  girl  so  bright,  taught  her  himself,  in" 
>  me  „„„g,,  ,„d  ,,„,  ,„  ^^^^  jj.^^=  made  m  ,  h 
ot  her,  ,«>;  talked  with  her,  and  listened  to  her,  and  en- 

U^iTin-^'-r  "1"'*  ''-'  »''l^-rS-w.as,on.       ' 
.■'hmgly  m  wtsdom  and  even  in  what  is  learned  from 

This  night,  within  the  house  again,  for  a  while,  Lucy 
Ba-bury  sate  looking,  with  absent  eyes,  at  her  fathjr,  who 


\l^ 


m 


n  1 

4  11^  H     ),    I 


74 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


himself  sate  late ;  then  she  trimmed  the  lamp,  and  busied 
herself  with  paper  and  pencil. 

It  was  all  silent  till  their  evening  prayer-time ;  then, 
late  as  it  was,  Lucy  read  the  New  Testament  lesson  for 
the  day;  and  the  father  used  the  evening  collorts  of  the 
Common-prayer-book,  holding  little  Janie  again  m  h.s 
arms ;  and  then  the  little  gathering  was  broken  up. 

It  was  the  parents'  way  to  leave  their  daughter  to  her 
own  times,  and  she  trimmed  her  lamp  and  sate  in  the 
chimney  after  they  were  gone  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  they  found  her  lying,  in  her  clothes, 
upon  her  bed,  burning  with  fever.  . ,    ,    , 

Dr.  Aylwin  was  sent  for,  from  Brigus,  and  said  that 
«it  was  severe,  and  would  not  be  over  in  a  day— or  two. 


*-.* 


t    ,     I 


II' 
ii 


.   4liionLlr 


A  MEETING. 


75 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A   M£ETINO. 

j  AYS,  fair  and  foul,  went  by ;  the  fever  kept  about 
5  Its  slow  work  in  Marchants'  Cove,  and  Skipper 
'-^eorge  s  daughter  was  siek.  There  came  a  verv 
beaut,  .  ,  afternoon,  on  the  twelfth  of  that  August.  AU 
was  fan.,  as  ,f  there  were  no  provision  in  either  sea  or 
sky  for  rain. 

«  J^^d"h^'""'°'"  ""Tl""^  '"""P'-g  »'eadny  over  the 
goald  bushes  on  the  Backside,  the  sky  overhead  was 
dear  and  ,f  a  cloud  floated,  it  was  above  the  wind-  Zd 
there  ,t  sailed  slowly,  as  if  it  were  a  barge  from  .vhich 
s  me  lovely  spirits  gazed  upon  the  happ?  earth.  The 
imle  breakers  played  quietly,  (at  this  distance  no' sound 
7"  "P  f™"  "■«-.)  --ejoicing,  apparently,  among    hem- 

Ch-:;!::^:^  "^-  --  "-^^  -  <">-  -m  hvmg 

hfted  up  .he,r  heads  among  the  bushes,  but  scarcely  yet 
above  them,  and  swept  on  toward  the  &rther  woods  .^d 
nn  r  barrens,  there  to  ky  by  what  it  was  bri„<nng  of 
health  and  freshness  from  the  main.  ^^ 

The  day  ias  such  as  often  draws  one's  longings  for- 
»«H  orwatds,  as  the  sweet  wind  goes,  and  b^n^  L 
Ue  mmd  a  gentle  sorrow,  because  it  cannot  go  alon» 
farther  or  faster  than  the  heavy  body. 


76 


PHK  NEW   PRIEST. 


»    I 


This  neighborhood  ha  Idom  !>ny  stir  of  human  life, 
and  birds  and  insects  avft  not  fniquent  here.  The  paths 
are  travelled  most  in  winter;  for  they  lead  over  to  the 
woods,  crossing  some  swamps  and  ponds,  perhaps,  in  the 
way ;  and  these  are  frozen  at  that  season.  They  can  be 
traversed,  however,  (some  of  them,)  at  other  times,  by 
those  who  are  familiar  with  them,  will'  no  worse  ri^k  than 
that  of  getting  a  wet  foot  at  f»  cureless  moment,  and  they 
are  shorter  ways  of  communication  between  ihe  houses 
on  the  harbor-road  in  Peteri)ort  and  the  next  settlement, 
towards  Bay-Harbor,  than  is  the  main  highway. 

Some  simi)le  flowers  grow  here  among  the  stones  and 
shrubs,  and  berries  in  their  season.  The  Unncea  borealis 
puts  up  its  pretty  pinkness,  (confounded  with  the  blossom 
of  the  cranberry  by  the  people ;)  spiked  willow-weed ; 
golden-rod ;  the  sweet  flower  of  the  bake-apple,  and  other 
pretty  things  grow  quietly  upon  this  ground,  which  is 
scarce  habitable  for  man.  The  graceful  maidenhair,  with 
its  pretty,  spicy  fruit-;  plumboys,  bake-apples,  crackers, 
partridge-berries,  horts,  and  others  enrich  the  barrenness, 
and  make  it  worth  the  while  for  women  and  children  to 
come  and  gather  them. 

On  this  particular  day,  at  this  particular  time,  the 
single  figure  of  a  gentleman  in  black  dress  wa-^  crossing 
the  surface  of  the  shrubbery,  just  about  midway  between 
the  harbor's  head  and  the  outer  point.  He  wa-*  walking 
moderately,  and  any  one,  who  saw  him  nearly,  would 
have  seen  his  hands  clasped  before  him,  and  a  thoughtful, 
serious  look  upon  his  face.  Whoever- knew  him  would 
have  known  afar  that  it  was  the  new  Romish  priest. 

Just  as  he  turned  a  short  corner,  where  the  growth  of 
little  firs  was  rather  thicker  than  elsewhere,  there  started 
up  at  his  step  a  pretty  thing ;  no  bird,  but  a  sweet  little 


A   MEETING. 


77 


girl,  with  the  flushed  face  of  one  who  had  been  stooping 
long,  and  the  loose  locks,  that  were  a  fairer  covennf;  for 
the  lovely  head  than  the  atraw-hat  which  hung  adown 
her  shoulders.  The  little  thing,  before  collecting  her- 
self,—before  seeing  fairly  the  person  who  had  come  so 
suddenly  upon  her,— said  in  a  startled  way,  "  Who  are 
you  ? " 

After  looking  at  him  for  a  moment,  however,  she  came 
straight  up  to  him, ;  :th  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face,  and  said, 
"  I've  got  a  great  many  berries." 

At  the  same  time  she  held  up,  in  a  sweet  way,  still 
looking  straight  upon  his  face,  her  apron,  heavy  with  the 
load  that  she  had  been  gathering. 

"Thank  you,  my  little  child;  I  don't  want  any  of 
them,"  answered  Mr.  Debree,  scarcely  heeding  the  child, 
who  was  looking  up  so  steadily  upon  him.  Then,  as  the 
little  creature  was  about  to  turn  away,  rebuffed  and  dis- 
tanced by  his  manner,  he  recalled  himself  from  his  ab- 
stractedness, and,  condescending  to  her,  asked, 
"  Do  you  wish  me  to  take  one  of  your  berries  ?" 
"  Yes,  if  you  please,  a  great  many.  Were  you  looking 
for  me  when  you  came  here  ?  " 

"  No,  my  child,"  answered  he  again  kindly,  "  I  didn't 
know  that  you  were  here." 

"  Oh  !  yes.  I've  been  here  a  great  while  ;  I've  been 
here  a  great  many  hours  ;  I  don't  know  how  long  I've 
been  here.     Do  you  know  my  mamma  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  know  our  mamma,"  said  he,  patiently 
keeping  up  the  conversation  with  the  talkative  little  thing, 
whose  voice  was  as  pleasant  as  her  look,  and  who  evi- 
dently wished  to  become  better  acquainted. 

"  Does  your  mamma  let  you  come  and  stay  here  sc 
long  all  alone  ?"  inquired  he  on  his  part. 


78 


THE   NEW   PRIEST. 


«  Why,  no !  I'm  not  alone.  Don't  you  see  ?  "  said  the 
young  thing,  with  that  directnoss  and  satisfaction  of  hav- 
ing the  advantage  of  a  "  great ..  an,"  which  also  grown-up 
children  show  in  the  same  way  when  they  find  themselves 
better   informed   in    some    particular   than   some   others 

As  she  said  these  words,  there  rose  from  the  near 
bushes  a  merry  laugh  of  little  ones,  who  had  been  hearmg 
all,  unseen,  and  had  been,  very  likely,  on  the  point  of 
breaking  out  before.  ^ 

«  Don't  you  hear  those  children  ?  They  are  with  me ; 
and  there's  a  woman  over  there,  with  a  pink  ribbon  round 
her  neck,  sitting  by  that  rock  ;  don't  you  see  her  ?  She  U 
see  that  we  don't  get  into  any  mischief." 

Mr.  Debree  smiled  as  she  reported  so  glibly  these  last 
words,  words  which  sounded  as  if  they  had  made  a  part 
or  the  whole  of  the  request  or  injunction  given  when 
the  children  set  forth  from  home.  In  the  direction  to 
which  his  eye  turned,  as  she  spoke,  the  woman  "with  the 
pink  ribbon,"  was  plainly  to  be  seen  at  no  great  dis- 
tance. , 

These  are  tenacious  little  things  these  children  ;  and  a 
kindhearted  man,  though  he  be  a  childless  Romish  priest, 
.     cannot  rudely  break  away  from  one  of  them  that  wishes 
to  detain  him.     Father  Ignatius,  though  a  little  reserved, 
was  very  gentle  in  his  manner,  and  his  voice  had  no 
repulsive  tone  in  it;  the  child  seemed,  as  children  do,  to 
draw  towards  him.     She  took  his  hand,  although  he  had 
several  times  turned  to  go  on  his  way,  and  prepared  to 
lead  him  back  again  over  his  steps.     He  gently  resisted. 
"  Where  do  you  mean  to  lead  me  ?  "  he  asked. 
She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  as  if  abashed,  and  then, 
loosing  her  hold  of  his  hand,  and  turning  one  httle  foot 


A   MKFTING. 


79 


round  upon  it's  toe,  swaying  her  body,  at  the  same  time 
a  little  away  from  him,  asked  timidly, 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  and  see  my  mamma?" 
"  Hut  I  don't  know  your  mamma,  my  child,"  he  an- 
swered, taking  this  opportunity  to  effect  his  purpose  of 
keepmg  on  his  path  ;  so  saying  «  Good  bye  I »  he  walked 
away.  He  turned  his  head  ere  long,  and  saw  the  child 
unsatisfied  standing  still  upon  the  same  spot;  her  hands 
holdmg  up  her  loaded  apron,  her  head  bent  forwards,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  He  stooped  hastily,  and  has- 
tily came  back,  saying:  "There's  a  pretty  little  flower 
for  you  that  I  found  under  the  fir-tree  yonder." 

"  Mamma  said  I  was  a  little  flower  that  grew  in  the 
shade,"  said  the  child,  and   then,  as  if  trying  again  to 
establish  an  intercourse  between  herself  and  her  chance- 
companion,  asked  him  suddenly, 
"Are  you  a  minister  ?  " 
"  Yes.     What  made  you  think  so  ?  " 
"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Wellon  1 "  continued  she  in  her 
course  of  interrogation. 

"  Yes,  I  know  him,"  he  answered,  once  more  turning 
to  be  gone.  ° 

"Do  you  love  Mr.  Wellon?"  she  went  on,  following 
out  her  own  little  train  of  thought.  "I  know  him,  and 
I  love  him  very  much ;  do  you  ?  "  She  put  the  second 
mierrogative  at  the  end  of  the  sentence,  to  compensate 
ior  the  diversion,  in  the  middle  clause,  from  the  openin.^ 
question,  as  one  brings  up,  to  its  first  level,  a  rope  thai 
has  sagged  in  its  length  midway. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  as  kindly  and  quietly  as  before,  and 
not  persisting  now  in  going  on. 

"  Mr.  Wellon  hasn't  any  little  children  ;  have  you  got 
any  little  children  ?"  she  asked. 


i'  I 


80 


THK   NEW  PRIEST. 


*'  No,"  answered  he,  turning  away. 

"Are  you  a  Romis'  pries'?"  was  her  next  inquiry, 
using  the  words  (except  for  childishness  of  pronunciation) 
as  familiarly  as  if  she  hud  been  reading  and  spelling  out 
of  a  book  of  controversy,  the  little  thing ! 

Seeing  the  gentleman  change  color  slightly,  or  noticing, 
perhaps,  some  other  slight  change  which  a  child's  eye  so 
readily  detects  and  a  child's  mind  interprets  as  well  as  it 
knows  how,  she  hastened  to  ask  him,  looking  abashed, 

"  Is  that  bad  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  But  what  made  you  think  of  it  ?  Where 
did  you  hear  about  Romish  priests  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  heard  it.  I  heard  it  some- 
where," answered  the  little  one,  in  her  simplicity.  "I 
heard  mamma  say  it,  and  Mr.  Wellon." 

"  Did  they  say  that  I  was  one  ? "  said  he,  in  a  lower 
voice  than  before. 

«  No ;  they  didn't  say  you ;  they  said  some  men  were 

that." 

"  And  what  sort  of  man  do  you  think  it  is  ?  " 

"  1  think  it's  a  man  like  you." 

"  And  why  do  you  think  it's  a  man  like  me  ?  "  he  asked 
again,  smiling. 

I  don't  know  ;  I  think  it  is,"  the  little  thing  said,  giv- 
ing a  child's  reason. 

"And    is    it    somebody    like   Mr.    Wellon,    do    you 

think?" 

"  Oh  !  no.     It  isn't  a  man  like  Mr.  Wellon,"  said  she, 

decidedly. 

"  What  is  Mr.  Wellon,  then  ?     Do  you  know  ?  " 

«  Oh,  yes  !     I  know  Mr.  W<;llon  is  a  minister  of  God,'' 

she  answered,  laokin*r  iif>  to  him.  •  . 

"  Who  i.s  vour  m  lui  na  r'  " 


A   MKETINQ. 


81 


"Hor  name  is  Mrs.  Barre,  and  my  name  is  Mary 
Barre.     I'm  her  little  daughter." 

"  And  how  old  are  you,  child  ?  "  he  inquired,  looking 
away,  over  the  water. 

"  I  shall  be  a  big  girl  pretty  soon.  I'm  going  on  six. 
That's  pretty  big,  isn't  it?  Mamma  says  I  shall  be  a 
woman  pretty  sooii,  if  I  live,  because  my  papa's  gone." 

Mr.  Debree,  at  these  words,  looked  back  at  the  child, 
and  said,  «  Where  is  he  gone  ?  " 

She  answered  as  if  she  were  sure  of  having  made  a 
friend  of  him,  "  I  think  he's  gone  up  in  the  sky  ;  for  my 
manrima  wears  black  clothes,  and  cries  sometimes ;  and 
that's  what  people  do  when  some  one  goes  up  in  the  sky. 
I  think  he's  been  gone  about  thirty  years."  This  last  she 
said  with  the  same  innocent  confidence  as  the  rest;  lavish- 
ing the  time  like  any  other  treasure  of  unknown  worth. 

Her  companion  did  not  smile,  but  stood  and  looked  at 
her,  and  then  turned  again  and  walked  away ;  and  the 
li«tle  thing,  as  if  satisfied  with  having  established  so  much 
of  an  acquaintance  as  to  have  let  him  know  who  she  was, 
and  how  old,  turned  up  the  path,  without  looking  back. 

Presently  she  was  singing  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  m 
she  sat  upon  a  stone  : — 


The  iceberg  f  oats,  all  still  and  st'ong, 

From  tlie  land  of  ice  and  snow: 
Full  fifty  fallom  aoove  the  sea, 

Two  hundred  falloii  below." 

Then  aa  if  her  little  rhyme  had  been  a  sacred  hymn,  from 
Holy  Writ  or  the  Church  Service,  she  added,  "  Glory  be 
to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy  Ghost,— in 
the  beginning,— ever  shall  be,  world  avout  end.  Amen." 

The  children,  who  had  been  playing  or  picking  berries, 

VOL.  I.  Q 


iir 


82 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


close  at  hand,  started  up  like  a  covey  of  birds,  and  joined 
little  Mary,  and  the  "  woman  with  the  red  ribbon,"  who 
was  not  far  off,  came  at  almost  the  same  moment. 

«  What  was  'e  saying  to  'ee,  lovey  ?  "  and  "  what  did  'e 
come  back  for?"  and  "what  did  he  tell  'ee  about  a 
praste  ?  "  "  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  and  other  like,  were  the 
cloud  of  questions  thp.t  swarmed  about  little  Mary  from 
the  woman  and  t'>'  ,  aildren  ;  the  woman  not  forgetting  at 
the  same  time,  u  ,;<..  the  straw  hat  which  had  been  hang- 
ing, as  we  said,  from  our  little  acquaintance's  neck,  into 
its  proper  place  upon  her  head. 

From  amidst  this  swarm  of  sharp  interrogatories,  Mary 
started  off  to  flee.  She  fell  and  scattered  a  good  many  of 
her  berries  before  she  got  far,  gathered  up  as  many  as 
she  could,  before  the  company,  which  followed  slowly, 
overtook  her,  and  then  managed  to  keep  in  front  of  them, 
and  then  of  such  as  were  left  of  them,  (for  they  dropped 
off  by  degrees,)  until  she  reached  her  home. 

Mrs.  Barre,  in  receiving  her,  thanked  the  woman  who 
had  kept  her  in  sight,  and  bought,  at  the  same  time,  some 
quarts  of  berries,  by  way  of  returning  a  favor  ;  then  took 
Mary  up  in  her  arms,  and  hurried  to  hear  her  account  of 

her  doings. 

"  Please  ma'am,"  called  the  worthy  neighbor  after  her, 
«  there  was  a  gentleman  stopped  and  talked  wi'  she  some 
while.  He  said  no  harm,  I  don't  think,  for  I  kept  anighst 
'em,  but  'e  was  this  'am'  handsome-looking  praste  that's 
corned,  as  they  says,  to  live  in  the  harbor ;  'is  name's 
somethin,  I  don'  rightly  mind  ;  and  he  gave  her  bit  of  a 
posey,  ef  she's  a-got  'n  now." 

The  mother  thanked  her  again,  and  for  informing  her 
of  the  child's  talking  with  that  gentleman,  saying  she 
would  ask  about  her  afternoon's  adventures. 


A   MEKTING. 


88 


To  this  the  little  adventurer  herself,  fresh  from  the  ex- 
citement, assented  very  cordially. 

"I  talked  very  kindly  to  him,  mamma,"  said  Mary, 
when  they  were  alone  together,  inside.  "I  told  him  I 
was  your  little  girl,  and  he  wanted  to  know  what  a  Ro- 
mis'  pries'  was,  and  I  told  him  I  thought  he  was  a  Romis' 
pries' ;  and  he  asked  me  wlfether  my  papa  was  gone  up  in 
the  sky." 

"  Are  you  sorry  that  your  papa  is  gone  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Barre. 

"  Yes,  I  always  am  sorry  ;  why  do  you  ask  ^^  that  a 
great  many  times,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  forget ;  and  I  want  you  to  love  Heav- 
enly Father  very  much,  and  pray  to  Him.  Where  is  the 
flower  he  gave  you,  darling  ?  " 

"  There  it  is,  mamma,  and  I'll  give  it  to  you,"  said  the 
little  one,  dragging  it  forth  from  among  her  berries. 

"  Thank  you,  love,"  said  her  mother,  kissing  her,  and 
taking  the  flower,  which  she  did  not  return. 


84 


Txiii   .SliW    Jr'iOiiSJr. 


lit.  «W 


i;l,|.| 


CHAPTER  X. 

SOME   GOSSIP  AND   SOME  REAL   LIFE. 

r^  F  an  outlandish  frigate  had  come  in  and  furled  hei 
broad  sails,  and  di-opped  her  heavy  anchors,  and 
I  swung  round  to  them,  with  her  strange  colors  flying, 
and  lowered  away  a  half  dozen  black  boats,  and  held  them 
in  tow  at  her  side  and  astern,  and  lay  there,  with  foreign- 
looking  marines  pacing  in  her  main  chains,  and  a  crowd 
of  foreigners  swarming  on  her  decks,  there  would  have 
been  some  stir  in  the  quiet  little  town  of  Peterport,  and 
its  quiet  neighborhood.  The  people  would,  probably, 
have  managed  to  go  out  to  the  ledge  to  fish,  and  the 
women  would,  probably,  have  contrived  to  spread  and 
turn  their  fish  on  the  flakes,  and  hoe  their  gardens, — all 
besides  gratifying  their  curiosity ;  and  those  who  might 
come  from  afar  to  gaze  upon,  and  ask,  and  talk  about,  the 
outlanders,  would,  probably,  get  through  their  usual  day's 
work  besides  ;  but,  far  and  near,  and  for  a  long  time,  the 
thing  would  be  in  their  thoughts  and  in  their  talk,  on 
land  and  on  water,  at  flake  and  at  fireside. 

So  it  was  with  the  coming  of  the  Romish  priest  to 
Peterport.  The  people  talked,  and  wondered,  and  feared ; 
and  some  one  or  two  of  the  warmer-spirited  wives  pro- 
posed to  have  him  driven  off. 

Mr.  O'Rourke,  the    Roman    Catholic  merchant,  was 


irled  hei 
ors,  and 
PS  flying, 
eld  them 

foreign- 

a  crowd 
[lid  have 
port,  and 
probably, 

and  the 
read  and 
ens, — all 
[10  might 
,bout,  the 
ual  day's 
time,  the 

talk,  on 

priest  to 
id  feared ; 
ives  pro- 

lant,  wa3 


SOME   GOSSIP  AND   SOME   REAL   LIFE.  35 

either  seen  more,  or  more  observed,  and  the  remaining 
j)eople  of  his  persuasion,  planters  and  others,  were  thought 
to  have  (very  naturally)  an  air  of  more  than  common 
confidence  and  satisfaction.  Still  more  was  this  supp(,sed 
to  be  the  case  in  Castle  Bay,  where,  though  the  place 
itself  was  Jess  considerable,  the  nunrber  of  Roman  Cath- 
olics was  twice  as  large. 

Young  Urston's  case,  and  the  epidemic  that  had  settled 
Itself  in  Marchanfs'  Cove,  and  seemed,  now,  to  have  laid 
hold  on  Lucy  Barbury,  divided,  with  the  other  topic,  the 
pubho  mind  of  Peterport.  There  was  a  general  wish 
that  the  Minister  were  in  the  harbor,  as  well  for  the  sake 
of  the  sick,  (of  whom,  though  none  died,  yet  several  were 
affected  with  a  lasting  delirium,)  as  for  the  safeguard  of 
the  place  against  the  invasion  of  the  adverse  Priest. 

The  upper  circle  was  a  small  one:— The  Minister,  the 
widowed  Mrs.  Barre,  the  Wornors,  and  Miss  Dare ;  the 

merchant-stipendiary-magistrate-and-churchwarden,  Mr. 
Naughton;  Mr.  Skipland,  a  merchant;  Mr.  McLauren, 
the  other  churchwarden,  living  near  P>ank's  Cove,— a 
worthy  Irishman,— (the  three  latter  being  unmarried 
men,)  and,  lastly,  the  O'Rourkes,  Roman  Catholics,  made 
the  whole  round.  The  members  of  it  had  some  subjects 
of  interest  beside,  but  they  had  chiefly  the  same  as  those 
that  occupied  the  planters. 

Of  course  the  harbor  heard,  from  open  mouth  to  open 
ear,  the  story  of  the  widowed  lady's  strange  interview 
with  the  Romish  priest ;  nor  was  there  little  speculation 
about  the  unknown  tie  that  bound,  or  had  bound,  them  to 
each  other.  The;r  had  m^i  ,r.,o^  again,  and  he  was  seldom 
seen  by  day ;  sometimes,  at  n'jht.  Some  said,  of  course, 
that  «he  walked  in  darkness."  She,  too,  was  not  seen 
often. 


86 


THE  >;!:w  puncsr. 


Miss  Dare  came  and  went  as  ever.  Only  what  followa 
of  what  was  said  and  done  between  her  and  Mrs.  Barre, 
concerns  our  story. 

As  .she  came  in,  late  on  the  afternoon  of  little  Maiy's 
walk,  her  friend  answered  aer  first  question,  which  was 
rather  r^nxious, — 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bane,  how  yon'vt. 
changed  within  a  few  days  ?  You  must  try  to  rest ;  cer- 
tainly not  undertake  new  labor." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Barre,  "  that  I'm  not 
as  well  as  usunl . "  but  there  was  an  anxiousness  in  her 
eyes,  and  a  careworn  look  about  her  face,  as  well  as  ft 
nervous  agitation  in  hrr  manner.  • 

"You  won't  insist,  i.ow,  upon  watching  with  Lucy 
Barbury  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  would  really  rather.  It  would  be  a  relief,  as 
well  as  a  satisfaction  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Barre. 

"  Well ;  then,  I'll  go  back  to  my  aunt's,  and  come  down 
after  tea." 

So  saying.  Miss  Dare  took  her  leave. 
Late  in  the  moonlight  evening,  she  walked  with  her 
friend  (there  is  no  danger  here)  towards  Skipper  George's. 
There  were  no  people  in  the  road ;  but  as  Miss  Dare  felt 
a  quiver  in  the  hand  that  lay  on  her  arm,  she  noticed,  a 
good  way  off,  a  man  whose  gait  and  figure  were  remark- 
able, and,  as  they  drew  nearer,  recognized  him  as  the 
Romish  Priest.  No  greeting  or  sign  of  any  sort  passed 
between  them. 

As  the  lady  came,  pale  and  thoughtful-looking,  out  of 
the  night  into  the  house  where  Lucy  Barbury  lay  sick, 
the  father,  with  his  manly  and  dignified  respect,  welcomed 
her  from  his  heart.  The  mother,  overwatched  and  over- 
wearied, was  persuaded  to  go  to  bed ;  but  Skipper  George 
kept  his  place,  quietly. 


NI>1IK   GOSSIP  AND   SOME    REAL 


LIKE. 


87 


ma^en,  who  very  constantly  spoke  or  strove  to  sing. 
As  onee  a  light  was  carried  in  and  used  about  her,  it 

was  a  toueh,„g  s.ght  to  see  the  girl  who  lately  was  so  glrf. 
A  wet  eloth  commonly  lay  on  her  forehead,  shading 
her  eyes  and  h.ding  a  good  deal  of  her  face.  When  ft 
w-  taken  off,  it  could  be  seen  what  work  the  fever  1 J 
been  do.ng.  To  be  sure,  her  rich  black  hair  poured  o^ 
f.om  under  her  white  cap  like  a  stream,  and  the  soft,  long 
^»ges  of  the  lide  spread  over  her  half-closed  eyes  Uke  I 

oft  fern-spray  over  the  little  pool  at  the  tree's  foot ,  and 
the  bending  neck  and  sloping  shoulders,  over  which  her 

sTill  te?.  ft'r  "'?  '™™  ""^  '«=■''  '>y  «  •>"'«'".  were 
stdl  beautrful ,  but  the  eyes  were  deeply  sunk,  and  the 

face  was  Ihtn,  and  the  lips  chapped  and  parched. 

Her  kerchief  and  other  things,  that  had  looked  so 

Cd!     upon  her,  lay  with  her  prayer-book  on  a  chair  at 

During  the  night  she  dozed,  sometimes,  and  generally 
her  votce  was  heard  in  the  low  raving  of  half-sleep.  It 
poured  forth  as  steadily  a,  water  in  a  stream,  and  a 
chang,„g  ,„d  a.  formless;  bright  thoughu  and  s.mnge 
fances,  and  sweet  words;  being  and  hope,  am',  beauly 
and  happmess  and  home  and  sadness;  pmyer,  son,., 
chant;  thtngs  far  olf  and  things  near,  things  [igh  and  low. 

So  the  slow  hours  of  night  passed;  and  the  pale,  sad 
Wy,  the  body  of  whose  child  had  been  so  Jelv  laid 
deep  m  the  earth,  ministered. 

In  the  eariiest  morning,  about  four  o'clock,  a  neighbor. 

She  slept  late  into  the  day. 


Mi 


li 
1 1 

1 1 

i 


88 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER  XL 

TWO   MEET   AGAIN. 

RS.  BARRE  had  rested,  after  her  watch,  and 
early  in  the  afternoon  she  walked  out,  down 
the  harbor ;  this  time  alone.  She  passed  Mar- 
chants'  Cove,  and  turn,  and  hill,  and  narrow  way,  to 
Franks'  Cove;  and  crossing  the  stile,  and  going  along 
the  meadow-path,  and  through  the  gorge  r^  the  mountain 
of  rock,  she  stood  in  Mad  Cove.  The  stony  slope  went 
steeply  hollowing  down  to  the  little  shelf  of  land  at  the 
water-side  ;  the  ridge  of  rock  went  along  to  the  left,  and 
endod  in  the  tall  cliffs  at  the  sea;  near  her  was  the 
widow  Freney's  house ;  a  little  farther  down,  to  the  left, 
the  hovel  of  Tom  Somerset ;  and  down  at  the  bottom  of 
the  slope  were  the  eight  or  ten  houses  of  the  other  people, 
and  the  flakes  of  the  whole  colony. 

What  difference  there  is  between  yesterday  and  to-day  ! 
The  great  earth  has  turned  over  its  twenty-four  thousand 
miles  of  land  and  sea,  cities  and  woods  and  deserts,  be- 
tween ;  twilight,  darkness,  day,  have  come  between  ; 
where  a  breath  would  have  reached  yesterday,  there  raay 
be,  now,  wide  waves  and  storms  between. 

Mrs.  Barre  stood  thinking  or  remembering  at  the  verge 

of  the  cove. 

By  and  by  she  drew  near  to  Mrs.  Freney's  house,  and 

knocked. 


TWO   MEET  AGAIN. 


89 


The  priests  of  the  Roman  Catholic  denomination  do 
not  visit  generally  among  their  people,  unless  to  adminis- 
ter  sacraments;  but  as  the  door  opened,  Father  Debree 
was  standing  facing  it,  as  pale  and  sad  as  the  pale  sad 
lady  who  unexpectedly  confronted  him.  She  started  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  sight,  closed  her  eyes  fox-  an  instant, 
but  stood  where  she  was. 

There  was  a  likeness  of  face  and  expression,  beyond 
that  of  the  sadness  and  paleness,  and  of  figure  and  bear- 
ing, also.  There  was  the  same  high  forehead,  and  (except 
that  hers  were  darker)  the  same  full,  thoughtful,  feeUng 

"Must  this  be? "  said  the  Priest. 
" It  IS  ;  beyond  all  hope  ! "  she  answered. 
"  How  can  you  hope  it  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  any  thing  else  ?  "  she  said  ;  « I  have  but 
one  chief  object  in  hfe." 

"  But  what  should  bring  us  together,  if  there  be  no 
longer  a  common  faith  ?  " 

"  That  there  mat/  be  ! " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  must  meet  this,  in  coming 
to  this  far-off  place!"  the  Priest  said.  «I  cannot  feel 
the  drawing  of  old  tie? !— -I  cannot  see  you ! "  . 

There  was  nothing  like  sternness  or  hardness  in  his 
way  of  saying  this,  but  of  gentle,  fixed  resolve. 

"I  must!  I  must,  while  I  have  life!"  she  said,  not 
loudly  but  most  earnestly. 

Mrs.  Freney  stood,  a  silent  and  amazed  listener ;  and 
the  children  looked  up,  wondering. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Freney,»°said  the  lady;  « I  came 
to  ask  about  your  child." 

Mrs.  Freney  was  so  )ewilder(2d,  that  she  scarce  knew 
what  to  answer : — 


90 


THE   NKW   PRIKST. 


"  She's  doing  well,  thank'ee,  Ma'am  ; — I  mean,  he's 
much  the  same." 

Father  Debree  said,  turning  to  her  (not  without  agita- 
tion) : — 

"  If  you  can  send  your  eldest  chill  with  m*  ,  I  will  send 
back  by  her  two  or  three  little  things  for  her  brotherl" 

Again  Mrs.  Barre  spoke : — 

"  And  I  shall  not  follow  you  farther  than  just  outside 
the  door ;  but  I  must  say  something  more,  now  God  has 
given  me  opportunity."  • 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered  ;  I  cannot  be  harsh  or  rude 
to  you.  I  will  hear,  this  once,  and  bring  all  to  an  end. 
Come,  child  !  go  on  !  " 

The  girl  opened  the  door  and  passed  out;  the  lady 
gravely  bowed  to  Mrs.  Freney  and  followed,  and  Father 
Debree,  leaving  a  blessing  in  t\n:  house,  went  last. 

He  bade  the  girl  sit  down  upon  a  stone,  and  walking  a 
few  paces  onward,  stopped  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Barre. 

"  Why  should  we  meet  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why  should  we  meet !  How  can  we  help  meeting, 
if  there  be  heaven  and  hell  hereafter,  and  if  our  Life  and 
Death  depend  upon  our  duty  done  or  undone  ?  I  have 
not  changed ;  what  I  was,  I  am." 

"  All  human  ties  are  loosed  from  me,"  he  said.  "  To 
do  a  priest's  work  is  my  only  dufy,  and  my  only  wish.  T 
cannot,  even  in  memory,  recall  any  other  tie." 

"What!  is  all  common  life  and  happiness  and  hope 
and  duty — is  every  thing  that  bound  us  together,  perished 
forever  ?  Can  you  strike  it  away,  because  you  will  not 
have  it? — It  all  lives,  here,"  she  continued,  laying  her 
two  hands  on  her  bosom,  "  and  will  not  die  ! " 

"  But  it  is  dead  with  me  !  "  he  answered, 

A  pang,  as  from  a   winged  arrow,  seemed  to  shoot 


li  1 


TWO  MEET  AGAIN.  g. 

•  iTef  '"  ■  '"'  """'  ""  '^''-  ""  ^'-^  ™  'i"1' 

"  It  may  be  so !  »  ,he  said.     ■•  O  Walter !  I  claim  no 
lo«.     I  do  not  ask  .or  it.     I  „n,y  „,k  .,,,  .,™-;j 

yon  will  hT.r  „„  1  ^  ,"'  "'■  """^  '°  ■>"'"•  ""''  """ 

To  tX"      rr.-  '     Tl,a.  is  not  mnel.  --no. 

'-t  yo„  JZuerTwaL'r  ""  ""  ^°"  "''^'  "  -"■"" 

Her  eyas  were  only  full  of  tears. 

His  fac,  quivered  ;  his  frame  was  shaken. 
»I""""^-''''^^^'^'"^^--^-^»>eI     It  is  in,. 

.    "f  "^  ^  ^^^^««^  y«"»  for  God's  sake  !"  she  said  clasn- 
mg  her  two  hands  to  him.  '        P" 

;•  No ! "  he  answered.    «  For  God's  sake,  I  must  not  I  " 
1  ears  .00    m  his  eyes  ;  how  could  he  hinder  them  I 

her  ?L  ""''  ^^^^'"^  '^^  ^^^^'  -^  -ting  down 

^''  Even  as  a  priest,  you  might  grant  me  this  !  " 
As  a  pnest,  I  cannot  do  it  I     Oh !  do  not  think  it 
cruelty  or  hardness  of  heart;  my  very  he^t  i     " 
eaten  out;-but  I  cannot  I"  ^  ^^^^^  ^^^^  .    bemg 

away.'   '"''  '"'  "'''"^'^'  ^"'    "''^''^^^   ^^^  hurriedly 

On  on,  on  she  went ;  up  the  harbor,  as  she  had  come  • 

Tmber"  ''''''  ''''  '^''^  ''^^  ^-  ^--'  "P  toTer' 

stopped  ;  for  her  mother  was  kneeling  at  a  chair,  holding 
The  child  went  down  upon  her  little  knees  at  another 


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THE  NKW   PRIKST. 

chair,  laying  her  cheek  down  upon  her  arm,  with  her  face 
touard  her  mother,  and  pretty  soon  beginning  to  play 
gently  with  the  coral  beads  about  her  neck. 

As  Mrs.  Barre  rose,  she  came  across  and  set  her  lips 
upon  the  forehead  of  her  pretty  little  daughter,  and 
smoothed  her  hair. 

"  Now,  darling,"  said  she,  "  do  you  think  you  can  do 
an  errand  for  me  exactly  as  I  tell  you  ?"  As  she  spoke 
she  folded  the  letter  in  white  paper. 

'<  Oh  yes,  mamma  ! "  said  Mary,  eagerly,  "  I'm  sure  I 

n." 

"  There's  a  gentleman  coming  along,  and  you're  to  run 
after  him  and  give  him  this,  and  tell  him  it  belongs  to 
him ;  and  then  you're  to  run  back  as  fast  as  you  can ; 
and  don't  stop  for  any  thing.     Can  you  ?  " 

The  little  ambassadress  was  sure  that  she  could  do  just 
as  she  was  bid,  and  Mrs.  Barre  reiterated  her  instruc- 
tions : — 

"Mind;  you're  not  to  stop  for  any  thing.  If  he 
speaks  to  you,  or  calls  you,  you're  to  run  back  to  me  as 
fast  as  you  can.' 

The  child  assented,  and  repeated  her  mother's  words. 

"  It's  a  costly  thing ! "  said  Mrs.  Barre,  looking  forth, 
as  if  from  the  quay  her  eyes  were  following  towards  the 
far  off,  fateful  ocean,  the  full-sailed  ship  that  bore  her  all 
in  one  venture. 

"  Now,  dear !  Quick !  There  he's  going— don't  for- 
get ! "  she  exclaimed,  breathless.  "  Run !  and  come 
straight  back ! "  The  priest  whom  she  had  met  in  Mad 
Cove  was  just  passing. 

Little  Mary  van  down  stairs,  and  then  out  upon  the 
road,  with  her  golden  curls  shaking  and  shining  in  the 
sunlight.     The  gentleman  turned  and   took  the   parcel 


TWO   MEET   AGAIN. 


D.T 


from  her  hand ;  then,  having  opened  it,  looked  after  her, 
as  if  he  would  call ;  but  presently  he  turned  again  and 
walked  on. 

Little  Mary  only  varied  a  little  from  her  orders.  Hav- 
ing run  away  from  him  as  fast  as  slie  could  run,  she 
stopped,  as  a  bird  might  stop,  and  looked  back  ;  but  he 
did  not  turn  again,  so  she  came  in. 

Thi.3  time,  too,  as  before,  her  mother  was  upon  her 
knees,  and  the  child  stood  looking  out  of  the  window. 
As  her  mother  rose,  she  said : — 

"  That's  the  same  one  I  saw  the  other  day,  mamma ! " 
Her  mother  was  thinking  her  own  thoughts. 

Mary  had  a  child's  way : 

<'  Why  do  you  cry  so  much,  when  my  papa's  gone  up 
in  sky,  and  brother  Willie  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Barre  wept  silently.  The  little  prattler  went  on 
prattling 

"  If  I  !ould  go  up  there,  I'd  ask  Heavenly  Father 
where  my  papa  was.  He'd  know,  wouldn't  He,  mamma? 
Heavenly  Father  would  know,  because  He  knows  every 
thing.  He'd  show  me  my  papa ;  and  I'd  go  up  to  him 
and  say,  'I'm  your  little  girl  Mary,  that  you  left  at 
mamma's  house  when  you  came  up  here,'  and  then  he'd 
know  me." 

The  little  thing  was  not  satisfied  with  the  silent  acqui- 
escence that  she  got. 

«  Mamma  !  Mamma !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  saw  little 
brother  Willie  ! " 

"When,  dearie?"  asked  her  mother,  now  heeding 
her. 

"Just  now,— a  little  while  ago,— and  he  leaded  me  by 
my  hand  near  to  where  Heavenly  Father  was  sitting 
on  his  great  chair.     Then  Heavenly  Father  got  up  imd 


94 


THK   NKW    I'lilKST. 


■I 


opened  his  closet  and  took  down  one  of  our  little  boy's 
playthings,  and  gave  it  to  our  little  Willie  ;— (He  didn't 
give  any  to  me ;)  but  He  looked  at  Willie's  little  sister 
as  if  He  was  glad  to  see  me.  Little  Willie  knew  who  I 
was,  mamma,  because  he  saw  my  paper." 

«  What  paper,  darling  ?  "  asked  her  mother,  entirel)' 
occupied  with  the  child's  story. 

"My  paper— don't  you  know?  That  you  wrired 
*  Mary  Barre  '  on,  for  your  little  girl.  I  throwed  it  away 
up  in  sky,  and  wind  blew  it  away  up,  so  WiUie  could  see 
it ;  and  Willie  knew  what  little  girl  it  was." 

"  Come  with  me,  you  dear  little  dreamer!  "  said  Miss 
Dare,  who  suddenly  appeared  at  the  door;  and,  snatching 
up  Mary,  she  carried  her  off. 

She  set  the  child  under  the  boweiy  branches  of  a 
seringa,  and  stood  among  the  shrubs  and  floating  sprays 
of  creepers,  which  she  had  a  year  before  gathered  about 
the  house,  a  fairer  thing  than  the  sunshine  that  was  play- 
ing among  them  ;  and  she  sang  for  the  child's  pleasure  a 
song  broken  into  pauses  now  and  then,  much  as  the  sun- 
shine WH£,  here  and  there,  broken  into  shade.  Perhaps 
our  readers  have  seen  or  will  see  how  the  song  may  have 
been  suggested. 

"  Woe  for  the  brave  ship  Orient! 
Woe  for  the  old  ship  Orient! 
For  in  broad,  broad  light, 
With  the  land  in  sight,— 
Where  the  waters  bubbled  white,— 
One  great,  sharp  shriek !— One  shudder  of  affright  I 
And— 

di  wn  went  the  brave  old  ship,  the  Orient!  " 

Her  voice  was  a  fine,  full  alto,  never  needing  any 
effort,  but  now  apparently  kept  low,  for  Mary's  ear.  The 
air  which  she  very  likely  adapted   to  the  words,  was 


TWO  mki:t  again.  „» 

oubh  rt,e  same  in  general  as  that  of  the  '  Bonny  house  o' 

An  he,    and  her  voiee  Ho.n  „p„„d  and  fli„  -,  Lm  It 

opart  among  the  words,  as  a  bW  from  b      .,  o  l^h 

but  the  song  all  lived  in  the  singing  "  ^   ' 

The  shriek  seemed  to  split  the  air,  and  the  shudder  ,„ 

over  heTe'  ''T  ''7'^'  ""'  "  ™«  '"  "»*'  ^ 
over  the  sea,  where  the  good  ship  had  foundered      SI,. 

.^;;e:astz"-"^'^- ------ 

"  It  was  the  fairest  day  1„  the  merry  month  of  May 
And  sleepiness  had  settled  on  the  seas-  ^' 

And  we  had  our  white  sail  eof     >,•  u  ' 

And  « ,,,,,  ::^^^::;-  -1^,;-^^^^    --- 

O^th^h^tld^dn^nL^^^^^^^^^ 

Had  flamed,  tl.e  world  over,  on  the  breeze." 

However  it  was  that  she  fitted  the  music  to  the  words 
t  seemed  n;uch  as  if  every  hne  took  its  own  fZt 
leaving  the  smger's  lips,  in  the  fittest  melody. 
"  Ours  was  the  far  famed  Albion 
And  she  had  her  Dest  look  of  might  anc'.  beautv  on 
As  she  swept  across  the  seas  thafday.  ^   °' 

The  wmd  was  fair  and  soft,  both  alow  and  aloft 
And  we  wore  the  idle  hours  away  "  ' 

tfte  little  gu-I  clambered  to  the  ton  nf  th.  e  ,' 

seated  herself  there.  ^       ^^  ^^"^^  ^"'^ 

"  Please  sing,  cousin  Fanny ' "  ^h(.  c:,;^      i, 
seated      m;.c  rk  ^'  ^^^"'  ^^^n  she  was 

seated.     Miss  Dare  sang  again :—  ' 

"  The  steadying  sun  heaved  up,  as  day  drew  on 
And  there  grew  along  swell  of  the  sea; 

(which  seemed  to  grow  ,„  her  singing,  too,) 


im 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


And,  first  in  upper  air,  then  under,  everywhere,    ' 

From  the  topmost,  towering  sail,  down,  down  to  quarter-xufl, 

The  wind  began  to  breathe  more  free. 
'  Ho !  Hilloa !  A  sail !  '  was  the  topman's  hail— 
•  A  sail,  hull  down,  upon  our  lee ! ' 

Then,  with  sea-glass  to  his  eye, 

And  his  gi'ay  locks  blowing  by. 

The  Admiral  guessed  what  she  might  be; 

And  from  top  and  from  deck,  Was  it  ship?  Was  it  wreck? 

A  far  off,  far  off  speck, 

Of  a  sudden  we  found  upon  our  lee," 

"  Here  comes  Mr.  Naughton  !  "  said  the  child  from  her 
perch,  like  the  topman  from  his  lookout;  "and  somebody's 
with  him, — it's  James  Urston !  " 

Miss  Dare  hastened  to  take  the  little  one  down ;  and 
as  she  was  retreating  into  the  house,  the  voice  of  the  mer- 
chant-churchwarden-and-raagistrate  Avas  heard,  urgin'^ 
upon  the  young  lover,  who  had  abandoned  his  preparation 
for  the  Romish  priesthood,  the  excellence  of,  a  life  of  celi- 
bacy; and  regretting  that  Mr.  Wellon  (though  he  was 
unmarried,  certainly)  was  not  under  the  obligations  of  a 
vow. 

Miss  Dai-e's  song  was  broken  off. 


A  SAD   VOUNG   HKABT. 


97 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   SAD    rODNG   HEAKT. 

*E)  came  alone  along  the    oTtr/T'  ^'''°'' 

*a.  oft  ;t:.::  r  r  1 ''r  "''^'^^  ™'-' ■■•^» 

head,  saw  that  he  «a.  U^/ta  '  ""''  '""""«  '"^ 
old  women,  who  v,erT  J^T^  '"'"  "  S™"''  »''  ""> 

chafflng  about  .h~ "l^lTr  "  '"^^^^  P™"^"^ 
memories  of  the  time  when  h!  .,7'  "^  ™"''"g  "«' 
were  the  youns     tL  ^  ^°'''  "'*«'''"1  bodies !) 

here  than  an^w'here  a  "?  """  "'  *"^  •""  P-P' 
score  years an"^  ten   'oie "'I  "7  °™'"^^  "'^  *-- 
K'ehard,  a  woman  who  e     ';!,'' "'^ ''^  "^^"^ 
not  exhausted  yet  by  a  tn  f'  ""''  """"'^  ''"'^ 

changing  season' 'a'rJ"r::f:f""'"^T  ^^"'  "^ 
o.her  gossip  „a,  "Old"  gZ!  T?  ""''"■  ''""^ 
called,  though  younger  th,„  ^    ^  ''  "'  '''^   *as 

yea...  l^e,itfe"G:^  *;"''"  '""''''''  "^  f""  ^even 
well  a  medical  and  p^SnaTd'T"  •"  """"  "^  '  '^  - 
land,  as  one  implyf„r„T  et  '°^: '"  '''^''""''- 
'his  moment  a  pit^h^erln^;  ha^  Z„T"'  ■""'  '" 

^-outora  h„„d.d,-a  mt,e;r'„::;;:isT: 


«' 


r 


IWi 


98 


'IHK  NKW   I'STEST. 


slender  line  of  bluc4ilong  the  brim.     At  least  he  might 
have  known  it,  and  what  fair  hand  had  often  borne  it. 

"  Goou  morning,  Granny,  and  you,  Granny  Frank," 
he  said,  rather  impatiently,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  stop. 
When  we  have  met  with  such  a  thing  as  had  lately  hap- 
pened to  young  Urston,  and  wish  to  be  alone,  we  have  at 
the  same  time  (at  all  events  the  young  have,  if  not  all 
of  us)  an  apprehension  that  it  is  all  written  in  English 
on  our  faces,  or  has  been  overheard,  or  carried  by  the 
wind  or  winged  birds ;  perhaps  James   Urston  thought 

so. 

"  Thou'rt  goun  up  over,  Mister  Jemmie  Urston,  I 
think,"  continued  Granny  Palasher,  (this  was  her  vernac- 
ular name,)  in  pursuance  of  her  object  in  addressing  him, 
"  and  'ee'il  most  likely  want  to  stop  and  hear  for  'eeself ; 
and  so  Missis  Frank  says  I'm  wantun  up  at  Rivci'hfad, 
she  thinks,  and  'ee'll  plase  take  this  pitcher  up  to  she.  It's 
a  marsel  o'  water  out  o'  Har-pool  she  wanted,"  (It  will  be 
remembered,  as  James,  no  doubt,  remembered,  how  he 
drank  out  of  that  spring  that  morning.)  "  and  I've  abin 
and  got  un.  'Ee  see  he's  so  fresh  and  clear  as  the  blue 
sky,  in  a  manner.  I  wouldn'  lave  her,  only  the  mother 
'11  be  up,  in  short.  I  s'pose  'ee  baint  afeared  to  see  her 
lovie  ?  an'  nobody  wi'  her  but  the  tother  lit.tle  one  ?  Lads 
didn't  oose  to  be  fear'd  o'  maaids,  when  1  was  one." 

Old  Granny  Frank,  at  this  allusion  to  young  days  and 
their  doings,  gurgled  in  her  throat  with  a  cracked  laugh, 
and,  when  she  could  recover  the  poor  little  wheezy  re- 
mainder of  her  voice  from  its  employment  in  laughing, 
uttered  a  few  shrill  and  grating,  though  not  loud,  words 
with  it,  in  confirmation  of  the  last  remark  of  her  com- 
panion. These  came,  one  afler  another,  as  if  they  were 
stamped  and  thrown  out. 


f 


A  SAD  YOUNG  HEART. 


The  more  vigorous  Trln      T       "^'"P^^'ons. 

J  m  in  n  great  hi„Ty.  Grannv  •'  ,„. 
">«",  not  cLangin..  color   „T  """■™P"«1  ""=  young 

-i".  a  look  of  gr^vo  del  "  .  '".""'"S  "i-concerted,  b„I 
-"  call  there  t,l  elnlng-    """""'  """"  '  -"''  very 
"Oh I    'Ee  hnvo,.'  . 

old  woman,  L^e  p,„td  T r    '"'™  '""'"  -'^  «"» 

'"'tor  urged  another  lau»h  un  h„    -i       .  '"'"  "'"<-■''  ">« 
more  words.  °     "^  """^  '^'■•>'  ""wt,  and  a  few 

;'Mm!    So-IVe-^h„rd!» 
%."';■:  tl„:r;:;:^:>™"f  ^-.ks  are,  „„„.a. 
Mister  James  U.tln       "e td      r  "   'k'   "'^''   "«"'• 
ge^another  ,ou„g  man  I  uJtfX  a  min^:.."'"'""'  ^'" 
TWo™g.a„did„„.,.a,fo;par,er 

m  the  bearer's  hand  he  m/  '.  ,  7     '     '''''"^  ^^^  Pitcher 

Ti.e  grann,  2  th  s  Zl  '  „'  "l"  "  '"'  '^  '»«>- 
"  Tk:»'„    .  comment  on  his  sdppoIi  • 

J-nisam  vouno- p)ior^  fi,'  t        ,        "»  apeecn  : — 

anstrr  '''  ''"'■"  ''-"-^'  ->-  Grann,  Pah^her 


if 


ii' 


McMASTER  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


100 


THK  NEW   PRIK6T. 


"'Is;  but  there's  no  danger  o'  she." 
He  hurried  on,  and  left  the  old  gossips  to  themselves. 
Up  the  path  he  hastened  toward  the  ridge  bounding  the 
meadow,   at   the   farther   side   of  which   stood    Skipper 
George's  house. 

Mounting,  as  the  sun  mounts  up,  seems  fit  work  for  the 
morning.  There  is  a  spring  in  the  strong,  young  body, 
that  almost  throws  it  up  into  the  air;  and  airy  wings 
seem  to  lift  one  at  either  side.  But  it  was  evening,  and 
this  young  Urston  had  been,  and  was  now  going,  through 
a  terrible  trial,  p.nd  there  was  a  heaviness  about  his  mo- 
tions, and  a  sad  paleness  about  his  fuce,  that  did  not 
belong  to  him. 

As  he  got  up  to  the  edge  of  the  little  meadow,  and  it 
lay  before  him,  with  its  several  less-distinguished  tracks, 
— looking  not  so  much  like  different  ways,  as  the  same 
one  unstranded,— and  the  house,  backing  against  the  little 
cliff,  he  paused ;  and  it  is  no  wonder.     They  say  that  on 
some  table-land,  among  the  mountains  of  Quito,  lies  a 
gorgeous  city,  in  which  the  old  Indian  race  still  holds  its 
own.     The  roofs  and  battlements  glitter  with  gold;  for 
the  people  nave  kept,  from  father  to  son,  the  secret  of 
richer  mines  than  any  that  the  whites  have  found  in  Cali- 
fornia.    Now,  fifty  yards  across  the  meadow,  at  the  edge 
of  which  James  Urston  stood,  gli^'^ered  with  many  sheets 
of  glowing  gold,  the  house  in  which  Skijjper  George's 
daughter  was   lying   sick.      It  was  a  plain,   unpainted 
house,  and,  at  any  time  when  the  gold,  which  the  morning 
or  evening  sun  laid  on  it,  had  been  taken  off,  was  but  the 
dwelling  of  an  honest,  poor  man.     Yet  he  looked  long ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  he  dared  not  set  foot  upon  that  mea- 
dow, any  more  than  if  it  and  the  house  were  an  enchanted 
scene.     There  was  not  a  hundred  yards  of  space  between 


A  SAD   YOUNG  HEART.  ^^^ 

liim  and  the  house;  but  what  a  worM  nf 
f :'""  «}"->  of  ..,„  ,„„„g,,.  f^„,  .;f"»  •   J -very 

and  passed  on.  '         '°  """""'^  <=™"*''  'i«  ^'fee. 


102 


THE  MSW  PJUJiST. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 


A    GKKAT    LOSS. 


!.  . 


1.1  f 


.N  the  nigl.t  of  the  day  of  which  we  have   hovn 


^J  wni.n.r,  (thatfineenth  day  of  August,)  Mr.  Wcllon, 
\/  who  had  come  across,  ia  his  way  home,  from  l^or-' 
tugul  Cove  to  Sandy  Harbor,  in  a  boat  oeiongin-r  (o  the 
latter  place,  was  sitting  Lite  in  conversation   whh   Mr 
Kewers,  the  clergyn.an  of  Sandy  Harbor,  when  suddenly 
the  ♦  Society  •*  schoolmaster,  a  man  of  an  inquiring,  and 
excitable  turn  of  mind,  came  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
announced,  eagerly,  that  some  strange  work  seemed  to  be 
going  on  in  Peterport.     He  said  the  lights  were  movin- 
about,  and  there  was  an  unusual  noise;  something  mus° 
be  the  matter  there.  '    ° 

At  this  intelligence  the  two  clergymen  hastily  started 
torth    m  company   with    the   schoolmaster,  for    Blazin- 
Head,-the  lower  and  back  part  of  Sandy  Harbor,_from 
which  a  view  of  Peterport  (when  it  was  to  be  seen)  could 
be  had.     1  hey  readied,  after  a  few  minutes'  walk,  a  hic^h 
point,  and  saw  the  lights,  like  running  sparks  in  chimney 
soot,  and  heard  plainly,  over  the  water,  in  lulls  of  the  wind 
the  sound  of  human  voices.     At  this  hour  of  night,  and 
With  the  wind  bringing  in. the  great  murmur  of  the  sea, 
the  far-off  sound  of  human  voices  was  far  more  than  com- 
nionly  impressive.    • 

*  Of  the  Newfoundland  School  Soniety. 


A  OKEAT  Loss. 


I  US 


Hi.  .,.l„«|„„Hter,  wl,o  l„d  be.„  i„  ,U .„,|  fo,  . 

'\-"";  '''■ ■ •> '" «"  I-"" "» fi...  „M  ,,.„;i,k:  „„,, ,;; 

-:;::«;:  t;:;;:cv <"■ "» -^^^^^  - 

->..,  wiijiiii  „„  li„„r,tli(.,-  were  crossing  Com  ll„ck 
C^ve   .,„  ,.  „    .end,.  r..i„,  wi,„  ni,s..,.  «„a  „i!  .„„,  Jp. 
us  who  l,.rry  d,a.,ce.p«s»«,sc.rs  from  thn.  .i,l,..     i,  „,^- 
""  ''":*  "'"' "  e™«'.  """d.  peely  hill  of  ro,.k  wl,i,.|,  fo™ 
one  s„l,.  „r  Uack  Cove-.,ose  to  which  ,hey  wei^l^lw 
not  be  see,,      They  set  ,.,eir  l„„,e,^  i„  L  b,„v  of  .  « 
pun^  and  w„l,  „  strong,  and  steady,  slow  ,„.„ke  the  L^ 
".«n  „.,„  onsi,  felt  their  wayalon.f  The  Mini   ^     ee^^^" 
he  8el„H,l,„as,e,.,  by  way  „f  ,„„Ui„„  ,,:„,,.»•  „,ef„,  ^he. 

«k  to  „»v,  a  way  of  being  nseful,  which,  after  several 

n,es  .  eaiclnng  c-abs,"  as  sailor,  call  it,  „„d  o„ee  nearTv 

de,„ol,s  „,,g  ,be  lantern  i„  falling  over  backwards  Tet 

ehange.l  tor  that  of  holding  ,he  light  „„d  looking  .,1 

Ihe   .-ain    ,K>u,ed   straight  down,   d,-enchingly ,    and 

( hough  „  good,  „,i,k  „,„„„,^^ .,  ^,^^_^^  ,,„,,;^f;™ 

steady  lalhag  br„„g„t  „„  „,,„,„  „„,^^  |        ')  - 

had  already  deadened  the  wind,  and  Loothed  .he  wa  e 
down   „  the  gronnd-swell.     I„  about  three  „„ar.ers  of  an 
hou,.  the,  made  the  .shore  of  Pe.erport,  below  their  In 
o(  dest.nalion,  and  worked  up  to  it. 
Marchants'  Cove  was  -ill  e*:,,  „    i  ,    , 

m  Mr.  O'Koui-ko's  house-  the  lin.|,,„  „  a  ','='" 
f„„,i,      ,  ,     .     """■''  "'e  lights  and  sounds  were 

further  down  the  harbor.     The  Ministe,-  left  l  • 
ions  l,„,v.  ^.1,    ^i.    ,  Juinislei  left  his  compan- 

o,,s  h  ,e  (the  Schoolmaster  keeping  the  boatmen's  com- 
I- V.  »  be  sure  of  his  passage  baek,)  and  alone  went 
•I"".,  the  road,  and  took  the  first  eonshlerable  path  "v!^ 


104 


THE  NEW  PKIEST. 


to  the  Backside,  tne  place  to  which  they  had  some  J,ours 
before  been  straining  their  eyes  so  eagerly,  from  Blazin^- 
Head.  *=> 

On  the  road  he  met  no  one  as  he  had  met  no  one  in 
Marehants'  Cove ;  but  as  he  drew  near  the  meadow  in 
which  Skipper  G  urge's  house  stood,  he  heard  women's 
voices,  and  by-and-by  came  upon  a  company,  whom  by 
the  ear,  not  by  the  eye,  he  could  distinguish  as  Old  Granny 
Frank  and  others  of  the  neighbors.  They  recognized 
him,  and  announced  ar.ong  the.aselves,  as  he  drew  near, 
the  Fareson  !  "  ' 

People  in  this  country  take  no  heed  of  weather,  (when 

ras'c^f  ";f'"^'"  '"^-^  Readdressing  the  eldest, 
(as  CEdipus  addressed  the  old  man  of  the  chorus,)  but 
turning  or  answer  to  the  others,  «  what  has  happened  .P" 
The  old  woman  was  doubtless  making  up  her  mouth 
to^speak,   but,   happily,  her  grandson's   wife  spoke  for 

thats  Lucy  Barbury,-how  she's  beei.  atookt  out  of  ier 
fathers  house  ever  sunce  last  evenun,  and  never  a  wo^d 
corned  about  her,  sunce,  whatever  ?  " 

"Taken  away  !"  exclaimed  the  Minister,  turning  from 
one  to  another  in  amazement,  "  How  do  you  mean  ?» 

-ls-sir,-an'-her--bed_wi'-her  ;  "   gurgled   the 
branny,  gtnnmg  her  speech. 

I  '^;n.,      an    Sk:pper  George  's  inside  now,   w'itun  for 

"  Let  me  see !  »  said  the  Minister,  staying  for  no  further 
talk,  but  hurrying  towards  the  house. 


i 


A   GRKAT   LOSS.  j,^,, 

TJie  old  and  young  women,  and  others,  loitered  for  a 
little  gossip,  and  to  hear  the  end. 

"Did  'ee  see  the  Pareson,  Grannie,  when  I  told  un? 
Did  ee  see  un  shake  his  head  ?  " 

"  To-be--su.e_'e_would,»  answered  Old  Granny 
Frank  oracularly.  vrrannj 

" ;E  did  then ;  shookt  it  just  this  w>,"  continued 
Patience.     «  What  do  'ee  think,  Granny  ^  " 

way^        ^-^?-V-'-o-shillun-worth-o'-:good 
— wi  -a— pr'y'r-e'— made— t'oth-er— d'y  » 
^''  Did  um,  then  ?    I  shouldn'  wonder  !  " 

"  Wull  I — some — savs — an-crfils      „«' 
/.     .    .  ,  •'        't'J-geiis — an — some — savs 

"All   80,  Granny!"  assented  Patience,  who,  if  she 
hould  hve  .,0  long,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  ^e  as  ^L    'I 
thinks  gezac'ly  the  same."  ' 

^'  Ay,_  child,-  it-'U  _  be  _  sid  _  a-fore-ma-nv- 
dys-  e-up,"  and  the  old  body  hn^ed  away,  wh,^ 
she  had  her  mystery  entire.  •      ^'       "° 

As  the  two  speakers  separated ,  the  little  gatherin..  drew 
nearer  to  the  cottagcdoor,  with  new  food  L  spec^IaZ 
n  the  gunny's  utterance,  which  had,  sotnehowfTnts  "d 
the  subject  ,n  a  more  ominous  perplexity  than  bef"^ 
the  !ffl   .TrT  """""*  *"'■''"  '°"'»<*i'»ney,  where 

th  :n!:r  h  riiiThrt  ""^"^ """'- '-''-''  ^"' 

ui  mem  all.  ihere  he  was;  not  even  smokino- 
«.e  accustomed  pipe,  but  with  his  hands  upon  h  s  k„  e! 
ad  >..^cb,n  buned  in  his  breast,  looking  up'on  the  kitchen 

uolhr.  t  "'  ■'"'P""''''""/  and  slouchingly,  bu. 

"pnght  Itke  a  man ,  and  like  a  man  who,  having  don. 


31 4.  r 


106 


THE  NKW   PmivST. 


whatever  could  be  done  as  yet,  was  waiting  to  set  forth 
again  and  do  whatever  might  be  left  for  man  to  do.  A 
crowd  of  neighbors  made  their  way  in  after  Mr.  Wellon. 
All  rose,  except  the  father,  at  the  sudden  entrance  of  the 
Minister;  the  father  did  not  notice  it. 

At  the  sound,  however,  he  immediately  turned  round  ; 
and  a  more  honest,  manly,  kind,  true  face  than  his,  has 
seldom  met  the  open  air,  and  the  broad  sunlight,  or  fi-onted 
tearing  wind,  or  drenching  rain,  or  driving  snow  ;  had 
seldom  met  warm  welcome  from  the  wife,  as  it  was  seen 
through  the  half-opened  door,  or  beamed  complacently 
upon  the  frohc  of  the  children  at  the  hearth  ;— but  it  was 
clouded  now.  He  took  off  his  weather-worn  straw  hat,  in 
jising  to  receive  the  Pastor. 

"  Sarvant,  sir;  you're  very  welcome  home  again,"  said 
he. 

"Why,  Skipper  George  ! "  said  the  Minister,  «  what  if 
it  my  good  friend?  Do  tell  me!"  Then  pressing  him 
silently  to  a  seat,  the  Minister  sat  down  to  listen. 

"Ah,  sir,"  the  father  said,  «  I've  a-sid  heavy  misfort'n 
sunce  the  last  sun  as  ever  rose.     It's  my  Lucy,  sir ;  you 
know'd   her  sir,"— his   voice  breaking,— "  so  well  as  I 
a'most,  and  oh !  how  she  did  love  the  Minister  to  be  sure  ! 
well,  sir,  she  was  sick  from  short  after  you  laved  the 
harbor  tull  this  evenun :  that's  'isterday  evenun,  I  should 
say."— He  «ighed  as  he  thus  reminded  himself  of  the 
time  already  gone,  by  which  the  separation  ha'd  been  so 
much  widened.—-  She  was  goun  through  the  worse  of  it, 
and  we  thowt,  naterally,  that  as  she  didn^  get  no  worse 
she  would  get  better,  if  it  was  His  will,  and  so  the  doctor 
said,  (that's  Dr.  Aylwin,  sir,  of  Brigus.)     So  when  I  turns 
out  in  the  mnrnin  'isterday,— which  I  doned  nearly  about 
wi'  the  first  sun,— after  I'd  said  my  bit  of  a  pr'yer,  I  says 


A   GREAT  LOSS. 


107 


through  flstung,  and  get  a  .na-sel  C  «g,.  „r  Lh-Hk  ,?:.! 
■ny  poor,  dear  maid,  hopin,  mayhap,  ,he  fuver  raV  tie 
a  ..,r„,  and  .„en  .he/d  help  her  to  g^  a  bi,;  anllt! 
how  I  had  a  .wo  and  sixpence  .ha.  Fd  ..kep  .lis  ™any^ 
the  dy  agau,s,  1  may  wan.  i,,  and  a  body  likes  .0  do 
snmma.  eheery  for  a  sick  da«er  when  he  1 ,  so  I "  „1 
and  I  looks  upon  her,  and,  .„  my  seemin-,  she  ookedC 

gal     look,  and  her  face,  and  her  hair.     She  looked  so 

afearcd  .0  k.ss  her ;  but  I  did,  sir,  thank  God  ;  I  did  sir 
and  ,t  seemed  in  a  manner,  to  bring  my  darte    back    2 
she  says,  very  low  like,  •  Father !  •  she  says,  •  What  10,;^"- 
-ys  1;     Dear  father  ! '  says  she,  and  no:hin'  more    L 
1  ^uldn  help  „,  but  I  cried  much  as  I'm  doin'  nov,:,  s"r 
but  I  do'no  why  Tm  so  long  a  tellin'  it,  on>  I'm  afeared 
o  ge    upon  the  rest  of  it.     However,  I  ,^ent  on.  Id 
corned  home  w,'  my  few  flsh,  and  hurried  and  got  off  and 
wen.  over  .0  Backside,  and  got  myself  pa.  over  to  Br  ad 

he  ^  v"".    ™'  r'  ™  '"'™""^<'  "•■-'  '"«  -'  pa"  o- 
Cattle  B  y  nver-head.     I  s'pose  I  might  be  gone  a  matter 

mZrX'T  '■''"^^  "■''""  ^  «™  *"  'l-.op'o.he 
Ml  by  .he  church  and  sid  ,l,e  house,  I  s'pose  I  might  'a 
felt  u  was  empty;  but  I  didn't,  sir.     It  seemed,  in  a 
".anner,  as  ef  strength  Mowed  out  of  it,  somehow,  .0  me 
I  growed  so  much  livelier;  and  I  slowed  awV  my  little 
parcels  m  my  pockets,  thinkin>,  perhaps,  she'd  feel  in  'em, 
P^ymg  hke,  OS  she'd  «>se  to  do,  when  she  feeled  herself 
l«t.er.     So  I  walks  up  .0  the  door,  and  lo  and  behold  it 
*  Id  common  parlance  this  word  mean,  raisins. 


! 


!    1 


i    t|: 


«4 


irg 


TIIK  NKW   PKIKST. 


was  open;  b.it  T  thodjrhf  nolliin' sfraiifro  mid  T  wont  in, 
nnd  rifrht  into  the-  |,l,i..<,  whoro  IM  aMi  her,  sir,  and  she' 
wasn't  there.     '  Mother !  '-snys  I ;  h„t,  n.y  missis  wasn't 
there  :  ♦  Granny  ! '  says  I,  but  she  wasn't  there  ;  then  my 
t'other  h'ttle  gal  that  was  sittin'  down  by  the  door,  tryin' 
to  tie  her  shoe,  and  eryim',  said,  'Daddy,  she's  gone  aw'y, 
Daddy,'  she  said,  « l^a.ldy,  slie's  {rone  aw'y,  Daddy  ; '  an,l 
my  heart  went  onee  jest  as  a  fish  would  jro,  and  1  never 
nsked  her  who  she  muned,  but  I  .id  th.re  w.i,  soinethun 
tarnble  strange  ;  and  so  I  sat  down  on  the  bineh  and  gave 
one  great  sigh  like,  that  seemrd  to  ase  me;  and  then  I 
got  up  an.l  tookf  my  poor  little  papers  and  put  them  on 
tlie  bed,  and  tbliyed  right  out  to  see  ef  I  eould  find  what 
had  becomed  of  her.    So  we  sarehed  all  evenun,  mid  we've 
asarehed  all  night;    and  so-I'm  sittnn  here,  aa  I   be 
now,  sir,-'Twas  a  bad  night  for  she  !-Ah,  well!  God 
knows." 

As  he  said  this  the  bereaved  man  sat  and  wept,  openly 
and  steadily,  in  silenee.  Not  a  motion  was  made  nor 
a  word  said  until  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his 
hand,  and  turned  his  honest,  manly  face  again,  and  said  :~ 
"I  found  my  mistress;  an'  I  found  Granny  Palasher ; 
an'  I  sid  JNIiss  Dare  that  was  just  comun  up  ;  I  could  find 
every  body  ;  but  we  never  found  my  dear  young  maid ' 
It  isn'  like  we  woul',  sir.  God's  will  be  done,  however. 
E  11  do  what  'E  sis  best." 

The  simple  story  ended,  he  turned  quietly  away  from 
his  hearer,  as  if  there  were  nothing  more  for  him  to  say, 
and  he  would  listen  now. 

The  Minister  came  up  and  took  his  hand  in  bolii  his, 
and  said  "  Amen  !  "  There  was  a  general. motion  among 
the  company,  and  many  repeated  the  word.  The  Minii- 
ter's  voice  trembled  as  he  said— 


A   (JKEAT   LOSS. 


109 


•' Go(i  hic...  you!  Skipper  George  ;  we  must  find  her, 

or  find »     He  paused. 

The  fisherman  made  that  mo.t  expressive  gesture  of 
heml  and  Jiand  which  is  read  in  all  languages,  and  touches 

any  class  of  men,  meaning 

"  Ah  !  you  needn't  say  it,  sir!  I  know." 
"  L(M'.s  see  where  we  are,"  said  the  Minister,  and  he 
f^nHHl  toward  the  company,  among  whom  was  the  con- 
Hahje.     "  Mr.  Gilpin,  you  know  all  about  it  ?  "  he  asked 
of  th,s  worthy  man,  who  was,  also,  one  of  the  two  smiths 
of  the  place.    Charles  Gi!pin_«  Mr.  Galpin,"  "  Mr.  Gul- 
pm     "Skipper  Charlie,"  as  he  was  variously  called,  was 
an  Englishman,  middle  sized,  with  a  face  dark  by  nature, 
and  a  ways  wearing  a  shade  of  grime  from  his  "forge." 
and  shghtly  pitted  by  the  varioloid.     His  right  eye  was 
wantmg,  having  been  destroyed  by  an  accident  in  firing  a 
salute  onMhe  king's  birthday,  in  one  of  his  own  younger  • 
hours.     The  remaining  orb  in  that  firmament  seemed  as 
much  bnghter  as  if  the  other  had  been  absorbed  into  it, 
and  had  joined  its  fires.     He  was  an  intelligent,  pleasant    < 
lookmg  fellow,  wnh    that  quick  modon  of  the  muscles 
about  the  eye  Tf.at  marks  the  possession  of  humor 

"I've  done  my  best  at  it,  sir,"  answered  the  constable, 
with  modest  brevity. 

"  Who  saw  Lucy  last  ?  " 

".I  can  tell  'ee,  sir,  ef  'cell  plase  to  let  me,"  said  the 
brave  old  fisherman.  "  IVe  got  it  all  by  heart,  in  a 
manner.  Twas  Granny  Palasher  happened  to  be  bidin 
w.  her,  (for  we  didn' oose  to  have  reg'lar  watchers  d'y- 
t.mes  sir,  only  we  never  laved  her  long.)  a:  '  so  Lucy 
waked  up  and  called  for  a  drink,  granny  says  ;  an'  she 
a- Jn  want  tay,  an'  she  did'n  want  spruce,*  an'  she  wanted 
*  Spruce  beer;  a  common  bevemge. 


no 


THE   NKW    PRIKST. 


a  dnnk  from  the  Karpool-that's  it  in  the  hollow  under 
the  bank,  t'other  side  o'  the  church, you  know,  sir;  an'  so 
the  granny  went  aw'y  to  fetch  it,  never  thinkun  o'  naw- 
thun,  of  course,  an'  nobody's  sid  a  sign  of  her  sunce,  only 
poor  httle  Janie  said  she  goed  round  the  corner." 
"  Mow  long  was  the  granny  gone  ?  " 
''  I  can'  be  exac'ly  accountable,  sir,  how  long  she  was 
aw  y ;  she  m'y  ha'  stopped  to  pass  a  word  wi'  a  nighbor 
sartamly,  but  'twouldn'  be  long,  it  isn'  likely." 

"  Who  lives  nearest  on  the  Backside  ?    The  Urstons  I 
think." 

"  is,  sir;  Mr.  Urston  that  married  my  missis's  niece." 
"  The  father  of  the  young  man  that  was  going  to  be  a 

Komish  priest?"  asked  the  Minister. 
"  'Is,  sir ;  but  'e've  knocked  off  beun'  a  good  while  sunce, 

and  e  s  a  good  lad,"  said  the  father,  shutting  off  all  sua- 

picion  in  that  quarter. 

"  How  do  things  stand  between  your  family  and  their's, 
now?"  asked  the  Minister. 

^  "Mr.  Urston's  wife  was  my  missis's  sister,  'ee  know, 
8ir,--that  IS,  half-sister,--and  then  my  missis  i's  a  good 
oit  younger,  and  was  abrought  up  in  Etigland,  mostly, 
tull  she  was  a  woman.     'Twas  Mr.  Urston  an'  his  son  put 
me  over  from  Backside  to  Bread-and-Cheese  Cove      I 
maned  to  ax  Tummas  Turtas,^lives  a  bit  beyond  they- 
^^hen  they  were  goun  down  to  Avateiside,  and  offers  m.'  a 
passage,  an'  I  could  n'  deny  'em.     Ah  ! "  he  said,  coming 
back  to  his  great  grief,  «  she's  alossed  now,  that  I  would  n' 
loss  for  all  the  fish  in  the  sea,  and  swiles  on  the  ice,  and 
fruits  o  the  land!     Thank  'ee,  kindly,  sir;  I  ax  pardon 
for  bem    so  troublesome.      'Ee'll    plase  to   excuse   me, 
mghbors."     So  saying.  Skipper   George  prepared  to  go 
forth  again.  * 


A  GREAT  LOSS. 


Ill 


oT,f;'""  "^^^  8°""'  »'•  "'"  "'°"ght  of  sadness  pe  en 
or  .0  come,  aga,n  overcame  hto,  „,  also  his  words  and  1 
c„„d,,,o„  „e.e  „ore  than  so.e  of  Ms  s..d,  ne.^t: 

-";ers.::r:itr-'"-»-''- 
^-.o„k.w,s.,(^;:r.e.sirrast,^r: 

inoch,  m  a  manne,,  because  o'  what  Jesse  sid  (  Ws 
my  ncvy,  Jesse  of  Abram,-hves  under  ,hl  ■!  -T 
hilJ  -_7e,se  Hiu  ,.  '"" ''"'"'  o  the 

n.«,    Jesse  Hdl,  we  calls  un ,)  I  didn'  tell  'ee   sir     -P 

Backside-wV.  and  ZT         ,  °"°'''  S"""  '»'«■• 

aWy  like.  'E  T,^,at'  If  ^"'f"''  ^"^  '"^  ^°-  "gl^' 
parted  under  her  *„:',!,  "f  ^U  """  T'  "' 
gone  right  aw'y,  an'  .hc/nev:   si'd  her    ol:!    '" 

sir;  is  there?    o?'      ""''""^^  *'«■■'' ^ -awthin' in  that, 

back."  ^  ^        ^^'^^   '^'^"^^   never  come 

JJhere  maj  be  a  good  deal  in  it,"  answered  the  Min- 


*  Catching  a  fish  that  serves  for  b*it. 
T  Vision. 


i     :| 


112 


THE  NEAV   PRIEST. 


The  eyen  of  all  were  intently  fixed  on  him,  and  the 
father,  even,  lifted  hi,  fiom  the  fire. 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  any  spirit,"  continued  their  Pastor. 
"  What  clothes  had  Lucy  on,  most  likely  ?  " 

* "  Oh !  nawthin',  sir,  but  just  as  sfie  was  in  bed.  It  'ud 
make  a  strange  body  cry,  a'most,  to  see  'er  poor  frock 
hnngin'  up  there,  and  'er  two  shoes  standin'  by  the  side  o' 
the  bed,  an'  she  aw'y,  an'  never  comun  back,  most 
likely.  Muny's  the  time  I've  alooked  at  they,  sunce,  an* 
cried  ;  it  looks  so  heartless,  like." 

The  people  about  Skipper  George  were  no  "  strange 
bodies ; "  and  some  of  them  could  not  help  doing  as  he  had 
done,  and  as  he  did. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  he,  rising  to  depart,  and  holding  his 
weather-worn  straw  hat  in  his  two  honest  hands,  «  I  think 
'ee  knows  all." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  you  go  out  again,  Just  yet,"  said  the 
Minister.  "I'll  take  my  turn,  now,  and  any  fresh  hands 
that  I  can  find." 

"  Here's  one,  then,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  constable,  start- 
ing to  his  feet. 

"Haven't  you  been  out  all  night?"  asked  the  Min- 
ister. 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  not  all  day  yet ;  we've  got  the  day  be- 
fore us.     I  can  sleep  when  we've  got  done."  ♦ 

"Then  I'll  be  back,  God  willing,  in  little  more  than 
half  an  hour ;  and,  if  you  please,  we'll  go  as  far  as  we've 
any  thing  to  guide  us.  I  wish  to  go  over  the  ground,  at 
least,  if  nothing  comes  of  it." 

"I'm  sure  'ee  woul',  sir,"  said  the  father,  in  a  very 
kindly  way.  "  It's  no  use  ;  I  can't  lay  out  plans  now. 
I've  got  my  handes,  and  something  to  make  'em  work;'- 
(one  might  almost  see  a  great,  grieving  heart  heave,  as 


A  UHEAT    LOSS. 


11.1 


''" ,;""'  """■>     "  ™  tale  'E  Will ,  a„.  of  I  „evor  „■,  .„ 

A8  he  .spoke  of  no,  afjain  .ooing  her,  ih  ,he  body  h„ 
brought  „,,,  „i,h  „,„  ,„.„„  „,„„,„.,,  -^.^  h^ne.,  hanf  L, 
whose  finge,.,  „ero  bent  will,  Ion..  yea,v"o  1  „!;^  , 

«init:t:rt"i:r'"''^'^™"'---'-™"^ 

He  8,ood  s,ill  with  his  grief,  and,  as  Mr.  Wellon 

o  T      r-  r"''  ■'"■•''  '""■•'• '-  ""■^'l '»  his  Pastor  o™ 
of  those  dnldhke  looks  th.at  only  come  out  on  the  fl  rf 
*e  true  man,  that  has  g^wn,  as  oaks  grow,  r        2„ 
nng,  addn.g  eaeh   after-age  to  the  childh;od  Chas 
"ever  been  lost,  but  has  been  kept  innermost.     TuC rT 
erman  seemed  like  one  of  those  that  plied  thei     r!de" 
and  were  the  Lord's  diseiples,  at  the'sea  of  gI  Uee' 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago.    The  very  flesh  and  btod 
nelostng  such  a  nature  keep  a  long  y<I„h  throu'hZf 
W.  ness  the  genius,  (who  is  only  the  more  thorough  man  )' 
poet  patnter,  sculptor,  flnder-oot,  or  whatever,  h„w  fresh 
nnd  atrsnehan  one  looks  out  from  under  his  „rd  age 
Let  h,m  be  Christian,  t«,,  and  he  shall  look  as  if-shet 

"Sit  here,  among  your  neighbors.  Skipper  George" 

":;:ran7^  "t  ■"  •""  ^ '-  •-'*  *-"r-AnX 

.:rher:;™edawa7     '^^  °"  """  "-■'-•'"•"e  added. 


I 


Voii.  I. 


8 


114 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


A   NEW   MAN. 


S  Mr.  Wellon  left  the  room,  the  attention  of  the 

company  was  drawn  to  a  new  voice,  that  seemed 

almost  to  have  been  started  mechanically  by  the 

general  ri.sing,  so  suddenly,  and  without  warning,  it  began, 

"  Why,  she's  cleared  out  'n  one  'f  her  hot  spells,  an* 

when   she'd  got  light-headed ;  's  no  kind  o*  doubt  o'  that 

'n  my  mind,"  said  the  strange  voice. 

The  speaker  was  an  under-sized  man,  of  thirty-eight 
or  forty  years,  with  well-looking  features,  and  bright,  in- 
telligent eyes.  His  scanty  hair  went  curling  dov.nwards 
from  a  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  his  head,  for  which,  also,  a 
part  of  the  neighboring  locks  were  compelled  to  furnish  a 
thin  covering.  The  baldness  had  been  worn  rather  by 
the  weight  of  the  months'  feet  that  had  gone  over  it,  than 
by  their  number,  or  ha<l  been,  dried  by  inward  heat  of 
busy  thought;  his  dress  was  such  as  would  become  a 
liighei-  sort  of  mechanic,  or  a  trader  on  a  modest  scale. 

Th'j  sentence  seemed  to  be  delivered  forthright  into  the 
middle  of  a  world  all  full  of  opinions,  and  questions,  and 
determinations,  to  Hnd  itself  a  place.  He  looked  before 
him,  but  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  look  at  the  same  time 
to  either  side,  and  his  tone  had  a  character  of  continu- 
ance, as  if—having  begun— it  rested  with  circumstances 
when  h?-,  ending  would  be. 


A  NEW  MAN. 


110 


and  hi.,  l,„t'i„  ,,•,  !:;,"«'"  """'"  ^•'»"'«  0"  '»»  i"<l  knee, 
sLe'!""  'p"of  '"'»"''""»<>'  "l-'^'ion  i.,  w,,ic.h  wayd'd 

•n  ^h!;  -po.:  zr^::vzr '°  ^^-^  ^'^  '^--'^ 

'vore  je,t  f  .alk  it  over  «  L"'  "  '"^  "'""  "'  ''  "' 

had  found  a  pi    fo"  ,    "'™""'  "'="""'  '°  """''  """  '"= 
fldentlj.  than  iZl    2  ".T")'"]''  """  ""  '""'"  «-»■ 

«>  who.  .e  eh  I'ta,"  d  In    r   "'  ^""P""'  ^-^-^^e, 
him.  ^         ^' ''"'  ''"''"'<' '»  ">e  left  hand  of 

The  father  regarded  hi'm  «rin. 
constable,   afte/fl^    „„"",;;  0^:  ^L""'"^*     ^''^ 
watehed,  curiously,  ,I,e  „ew  inf^  '''"""   **""■"'> 

nei.hho.„.e„ed^i;%X-tr;:^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

wha.^i4;r::^:re::ri^: -'■-"'¥ '"'^'■" 

•n  Peterport,  bea  here    wele  ^  " 'm"',"^''  ''  '"'™ 

«aid,  "  I^  ,ir  ,h  "  t;       •    ^  '"'°'"=  "'  *^  "^''-™an,  who 

Chan's'  Cove  there  •»  ,        ^   '  '""■  ''<'"'"  '"  ^ai- 

"o.  re,.,ar  hoppia^ad't t'  J  ^  tlue?.:''!'^  '■^'^' 
™g.o„,  ,  .,,  3a,i„.  is.     Wa>,,„o.,t'lho''."Z: 


:i:.'  I" 


m 


116 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


•bn,  'I  \l  muke  her  strong.T,  un*  when  her  mind  's  out  o' 
the  way,  yo  see,  'twould,  likely,  umke  her  want  t'  try  an' 
do  soinclhin'." 

The  interest  with  which  his  hearcrd  luul  been  listening 
was  evidently  not  llajj^ging. 

"  It's  Mister  IJanks,  the  American  marehant,"  said  Pa- 
tience Frank,  (for  she  was  there,)  to  a  nei«,'hbor-woinan. 

"Wall,  then,  (luestion  comes:  what  tvoiitd  i^hc  do? 
Why,  'eordin'  to.  She  wanted  a  drink  o'  water,  f  one  thiu^r ; 
wall,  s'pose  she  'as  very  dry,  sh'  might  go  o9  -.  git  some, 
likely.  'F  all  she  wanted  was  water  t'  cool  her,  sh'  might 
take  't  into  her  head  to  git  into  the  water;  but, then,  bein' 
crazy  don't  make  a  fool  'fa  gal,  'f  sh'  wa'n't  one  b'lbre  ; 
and  they  wa'n't  any  thin'  lik'  that  'bout  this  young  lady. 
Then,  don't  ye  see,  the'  was  lots  o'  folks,  by  all  'counts,  on 
the  flakes,  (ye  call  'em,)  an'  round,  an'  one  of  'em  's  her 
mother ;  so  she  didn't  go  down  that  way,  whether  or  no. 
Wall,  then,  again,  'tain't  likely  she  was  all  thust ;  she  had 
some  notions  b'sides  that:  (we  ain't  all  Hesh  and  blood,  I 
guess.)     Le's  see." 

It  was  strange  to  see  the  unflagging  attention  of  the  au- 
dience to  this  lengthened  argument,  given,  as  it  was,  with 
no  attractions  of  oratory,  or  enforcement  of  gesture,  except 
an  invariable  sticking  of  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  the 
right  hand  into  the  palm  of  the  left,  (much  as  we  have 
known  a  good  old  Greek  professor  to  practise  with  his 
pencil  and  a  hole  in  his  i  Oi^taud  )  There  was  a  persist- 
ency and  push  in  the  argn?r -  voi-^,  and  ar,  alhesiveness 
in  his  expr-ssions,  thai  Laiiied  iiis  reasonings  in,  and 
made  them  stick.  So  there  was  a  general  assenting  in 
words,  besides  silent  affirmations  and  negations  of  the 
head,  as  he  affirmed  and  denied. 
"  That's  a  dear  case ! "    "  Surely !  "    «  All  so,  sir ! "  and 


] 
I 

( 
\ 

T 

t 
I 

( 

S 


I 


A  NEW  MAN. 


117 


the  like,  refreshed  the  speaker  much  as  the  parenthetic 
•hear"  and  cheers  of  the  rioii.se  of  Cotrimons,  or  as  the 
pUuidits  of  (he  Athenian-'  gralificd  Demosthenes. 

The  eonstabh;,  as  if  his  cue  were  only  to  keep  oflieial 
eye  and  ear  ui)on  the  speaker,  let  him  go  on,  without 
meddhng  with  him,  and  ke|)t  silence.  The  father  heard 
Mr.  Bangs  with  steady  attention. 

"  Wall ! "  eontimied  the  reasoner,  "  then  comes  ques- 
tion again  ;  which  way  ?  Sis'  says  right,  no  doubt.  Sh' 
went  right  round  the  corner  o'  the  house,  an'  down  to- 
back  part  o'  the  place,  here—" 

"  'Is ;  Backside,  sir,  we  calls  it,"  says  a  neighbor. 

"  Wall,  't's  a  good  name,  no  doubt.  The's  two  roads 
goin'  'long,  up  an'  down,  1  believe—" 

"  'Is,  sii*,"  said  one  of  the  neighbors ;  "  there's  the 
sumtner  w'y  and  the  winter  w'y,  by  Cub's  CovB,  and 
the  Cosh,  and  so  into  the  woods." 

"Fact,  r  ben  on  both  of  'em  myself,"  continued  the 
speaker.  "  Then  the's  a  path  goin  from  Skipper  George's 
(s'pose  I  ought  to  call  him)—" 

"  It's  a  compliment  they  pays  un,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Don't  heed  it,  sir,"  said  the  stout  fisherman  ;  "  George 
is  plenty  good  enough  for  I,  alw'ys  ;    and,  most  of  all, 


now. 


If  the  kindness  that  lies  in  such  compliments  embellishes 
common  times,  there  is  no  danger  of  times  of  sorrow 
wanting  them.  The  reasoner  resumed,  keeping  the  title 
■now  that  he  had  got  it. 

"  The's  a  path  from  Skipper  George's  right  acrost  these 
two  roads,  (that  is,  ye  call  'em  roads  'n  this  country)  wall, 
I  guess  she  kep'  the  path  t'll  she  got  to  these  two  roads, 
Cf  ye  call  'em  so,)  f 'r  't's  plaguey  hard  makin  tracks  out- 
side of  a  road,  here— (fact,  'tain't  al'a's  the  easiest  trav- 


'i! 


fi 


iW 


I 


fi"! 


I'  ' 
i|  I' 


118 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


ellin'  in  'era,  b't  that's  'nother  question,)--she  kep'  the 
path  t'l  she  got  t'  these  two  roads,  an'  then  question  is, 
which  way  ?     She'd  take  some  way  certin.     I  guess  ye'U 
think   we  miglit  's  well  try  t'  hetir  'era  'lectioneerin'  'r 
talkiu'  politics  'n  the  raoon,  's  try  t'  guess  wliat  was  in  her 
mind ;  but  look  a'  here,  now  ;  s'posin'  she'd  heard  o'  the 
old  gentleman'     goin  down   t'  Bay  Harbor ;  she  might 
want  to  go  after  him ;  but  then,  here  s  this  story  o'  Jesse 
Hill— 'f  that's  his  name.     He  saw  her,  accordin'  to  his 
story,  (f'r,  I  take  it,  th'r'  ain't  'ny  reas'nable  doubt  b't 
'tivas  the  gal  he  saw,)  where  she  raust  ha'  ben  on  t'other 
path.     Now  I  understand  gals  sometimes  take  a  notion  t' 
care  f'r  other  folks  b'sides  their  fathers ;  't  seems  to  ha' 
ben  the  way  with  'em,  by  all  accounts— f'm  Grandm'ther 
Eve,  's  fur  's  I  know.     I  don't  say  how  'twas  in  this  case, 
but  she  raust  ha'  ben  a  takin'  piece  herself,  b'  all  accounts 
—an'  then,  if  the'  was  a  k'nd  'f  a  runnin'  idea  'f  someb'dy 
'n  her  mind,  why,  somehow  'r  other,  she'd  be  very  apt  to 
folia  that  idea.      She  didn't  show  any  sensitive  feelins, 
did    "le?" 

"  I  don'  rightly  understand  'ee,  sir,"  said  the  father,  "  I 
ben't  a  larn'd  man  'ee  know." 

"  Sh'  didn't  feel  'ny  tender  'motions,  I  s'pose  ?  That 
is,  she  hadn't  taken  a  notion  to  one  more'n  another  ?■■— 
young  man  I  mean,  livin'  somew'e's  round  ?  " 

The  father  answered  gravely,  but  with  the  same  hearty 
readiness  as  before — 

*'  I  know  a  ftither  can't,  mubbe,  feel  proper  sure,  al- 
w'ys— to  say  sure— of  his  darter's  heart ;  but  so  fur  as  a 
man  can  be  sartain,  I'm  sarten  sure  my  Lucy  would 
never  have  agrowed  to  e'er  a  body,  knowunly,  athout  my 
knowun  it,  as  well.  There  was  a  neighbor's  son,  surely 
•—that's  young  Mr.  Urston  we  spoke  about— mubbe  there 


i  I' 


A  NEW  MAN. 


119 


might  have  somethun'  come  out  o'  that;  but  thej'm  Ro- 
mans  and  my  poor,  dear  maid  loved  her  Savior  too  much 
to  hoar  to  e'er  a  Roman.  She'll  folly  her  own  church, 
thank  God,  while  she's  livin',  or  ef  she's  dead,  as  is  most 
l.ke,  she  11  never  change  now,  to  ought  else,  only  better 
an  more." 

"No  more  she  woul'.  Skipper  George;  that's  a  clear 
case,    said  Zebedee  Marchant. 

"AVall,on'y  jest  started  proposition;  'hope 's  no  harm 
done.     Ye  think  the'  wa'n't  forbid  to  keep  company  ;  do 
ye  ?     Wall ;  on'y  'f  'twas  my  gall,  (but  the'  ain't  'ny  Miss 
Bangs,  yet,  I  guess,— but  if  'twas,—)  should  be  wiUin'  t' 
bet  a  tourp'ns  hap'ny-('t's  a  coin  ye  hain't  got  't's  equal 
to,— wall,  't's  a  small  sum  o'  money,  b't  if  bettin's  t'  settle 
It,  should  be  wiUin'  to  bet)— they  know  som'th'n  'bout  her 
•i.  that  family.     Ruther  think  the  folks  'n  that  house  — 
(called  in   there,  a  minit,  an'  as'd  f'r  a  drink-  o'  water 
seem'  the'  was  a  light  burnin ;  didn't  see  anythin^^out  c' 
tl.'  way,  p'tic'lar,  3«0 -ruther  guess,  'f  they  were  put  to't. 
theyve  seen  or  heard  of  her,  one  o'  th'  two.     Ye  see 
there's  that  punt,  's  ye  call  it,  't  the  ca'p'n  the  brig,  there] 
•saw  'th  th'  nuns,  or  what  not,  in't ;  rfact,  I  saw  'em  m'self' 
—that  is,  I  saw  one  great   black  one,  'n'  a  couple  'f  other 
women,"— here    there   was   great    sensation   amon-   the 
hearers,— «w'n  I's  peekin'  round  the  house,  to  see  what's 
goin  on ;)  should  like,  pleggily,  to  know  what  the  nuns 
were  up  to,  'th  their  punt,  an'  what  'twas  they  kerried 

d(,wn Wall,  'f  those  folks  do  know,  it's  pleggy  strange 

though !    Wh',  anybody  't  had  got  the  fcelin's  'fa  man,  "'d 
go  on  h.s  hands  'n  knees  round  all  outdoors— wall,  he'd  <ro 
a  pooty  long  chalk,  any  way— f  r  a  neighb'r  'n  distress.'" 
"Young  Mr.  Urston  's  a  good  lad,"  said  the  father; 
"an'  the  family  ain't  a  bad  family,  ef  thev  be  Romans." 


120 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


ly    ! 


"Wall,  I've  said  'bout  all  I've  got  t'  say,  p'ty  much 
Ye're  welcome  to  it  f  what  't's  worth.  'Find  th'  ain't 
goin'  to  be  much  to  do,  'n  the  way  o'  business,  t'll  they 
come  back  f  m  Labrador,  'thout  I  take  to  lecturin'  a  spell, 
— (got  'n  exhibition  o' dissolvin'  views;  used  to  charge' 
one  an'  six,  Yankee  money ;  m't  make  it  a  shillin',  cur- 
rency,  here ;  but)— 'f  the's  anythin'  goin'  on,  while  I've 
got  spare  time,  here's  one  man  ready." 

"Thank'ee,  kindly,  sir,"  said  Skipper  George.  "I'm 
sure,  it's  very  good  of  'ee  to  take  so  much  consarn  wi' 
strangers." 

"  Wall,  'don't  feel's  though  folks  ware  strangers,  when 
they're  in  trouble.  B't  't's  'bout  time  f '  me  to  be  trav'llin', 
I  guess,"  concluded  Mr.  Bangs,  who  had  taken  up  hh 
hat,  and  made  a  start  out  of  the  way  of  thanks.  «  Do'no 
'xac'ly  customs  here,  ye  know;— I'k  a  fish  out  o' water, 
ye  may  say.  Make  my  compliments  t'  th'  Parson,  's  ye 
call  him,  'f  't's  ruleable,  'n'  tell  him  'promised  t'  put  up 
'th  s'm  folks  'long  down  the  harbor.    Wish  ye  good-night, 

So  saying,— the  gathering  of  neighbors  in  the  room 
openmg  and  letting  him  through,— he  went  out  into  the 
open  air  and  the  morning  twilight,  and  walked  away  with 
short,  quick  steps,  swinging  one  arm. 

"  Well ! "  said  the  constable,  releasing  his  long  attention 
in  a  deep  breath,  "there's  a  fellow  that'll  git  under  way 
without  waitun  for  tide  to  float  un  off,  any  how;"  and 
with  this  remark,  the  constable,  also,  went  hastily  forth. 


TRACES   OF  THE  LOST. 


121 


CHAPTER   XV. 


TRACES    OF   THE    LOST. 

;ITHIN  ,he  Mr  hour  .hat  he  had  mentioned, 
.he  M,„.ster  had  got  back  from  his  own  house 
and   the   constabJe   joined    him  ns,.    «l 
George-s  doo,-.     It  w..  .  Jn,  drea^  "  ho „:■":; 
daj,  so  thick  that  the  Minister  and  hi 
hid.hemse,vcs..mu,,oneh„;:rll::!;r"=- 
Jesse  Barbury  will  join  us  presenllv,"  said  the  M=,  • 

^riSir""  '"^  '•■"-"^-  "^  -'^''  'o  f^'ow  0^: ; 

story,  It  nothing  conies  of  it,  even      Wo'u  i 

path,  and  he  can't  miss  us,   ,  o„.h  thT  li"" 'V   "'"     " 

ng,  .his  eioud,  morning.    We  ea°„  wlh  I'      i^  Zl^: 

CCttrrtS'-tr^xr,""-'-^'^ 

-•  -s  chilly  and  thick,  and'noln,/,  V,S  77"" 
-cdd  be  seen.     While  Gilpin  wa,  tenin!  th        ry  ;  ™: 
ma,de„  s  fever,  of  which  the  reader  knoL  J,?,,         " 
constable  ,„,d,  the  light  „f  ,Uy  gradually  spr  ad  i        . 
firs.  e.p„sn,g  the  mist,  and  anerwa.,s  Lv'ng  it  tli^.  ■" 

*  Mil.  I. 


122 


THE   Ni:\V   I'KIKST. 


In  the  little  time  that  they  were  standing,  a  short,  sharp 
fall  of  rain  came  down  upon  them,  and  then  the  clouds 
began  "to  break.  The  light  fast  opened  the  whole  land- 
scape of  the  neighborhood  in  which  the  sad  and  mysteri- 
ous event  had  taiien  place. 

"  It's  clearing  oflf  finely,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  hopt;- 
ful  tone  of  augury. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  constable,  with  little  sound  of  the 
same  feeling  in  liis  answer. 

"That's  a  queer  chap,  that  Yankee  that  was  in  the 
kitchen,  sir,"  he  resumed,  after  a  pause ;  "  and  he's  got 
some  pretty  'cute  notions,  too.  He  says  she's  gone  off  to 
the  Urstons'  house  in  a  fit  o'  craziness.  You  know  it's 
said,  sir,  there  was  something  between  the  young  people ; 
however  he  found  it  out." 

"  Most  likely  she  hm  gone  out  in  one  of  those  fits," 
said  Mr.  Wellon ;  "  but  Jesse  Hill's  the  point  that  we're 
to  begin  at,  I  think ;  I've  sent  for  Jesse ." 

"  And  thej-e  he's  coming  now,  sii-,  over  the  gool'-bushes 
yonder.  I  see  his  great  fur  cap,  and  his  great  red  whis- 
kers under  it,  like  a  forge-fire." 

"  We'll  find  out  about  ihi.-i  sight  of  his  first,  if  we  can," 
said  the  Minister.  "  By  the  way,  we  forgot  to  take  the 
dog !  "  added  he,  suddenly. 

"No,,  sir,  he  came  along.  There  he  is,  sir,  nosing 
about  yonder.  We've  had  a  dozen  of  'em  out,  arfd  he 
too  ; — Susan  brought  un." 

"  We'll  give  him  another  chance  to-day,"  said  his  mas- 
ter; "but  this  rain  isn't  much  in  his  favor,  or  ours 
either." 

"Jesse  Barbury,  or  Jesse  Hill,  came  up,  conspicuous 
for  red  whiskers  and  freckles,  but  looking  honestly  sad. 
"Sarvant,  sir!"  he  said  to  the  Minister,  lifting  his  hat; 


TRACES   OF   rriR   f.OST. 


128 


and  in  a  lower  and  more  familiar  voice  to  the  constable, 

Hope  ee  re  hearty,  Mister  Gulpin." 

"  We're  going  down  u,e  Backside,  Jesse.  Will  you 
go  along  and  see  if  we  can  make  out  whereabouts  that 
White  tlung  was  when  you  saw  it  ?  " 

"  S^^-'^in,  sir,"  said  Jesse  Hill,  falling  into  the  rear  while 
they  took  the  path  through  the  buslies,  as  a  boat  in  tow 
might  fall  astern. 

As  they  were  far  enough  over  to  have  the  land  going 
right  down   between   them  and  the  shore,  the  Minister 
keeping  his  eyes  toward  the  water,  inquired  of  Jesse 
whereabouts  his  punt  had  been  the  evening  before  at  the 
time  of  the  vision. 

"  Sir ! »  said  Jesse,  emphatically,  hy  way  of  exclama- 

tion,  not  question,  and  evidently  glad  to  be  opened,  "ef 

ee  plase  to  bring  yon  var  (fir)  on  wi'  the  road  at  tother 

side,  sir,  up  over,  we  was  about  a  fourth  part  o'  the  w'y 

acrost,  sir ;  and  Izik  Maffen,  that  was  alon- " 

"And  where  was  the  figure  when  you  "first  saw  it?" 
asked  the  Minister,  cutting  gently  off  the  tail  of  Jesse 
tlill  s  discourse. 

"  It  corned  right  out  of  a  big  bush,  seemunly,  sir,-to 

my  seemun,  sir,  and  Izik  Maffen .» 

"Would  you  know  the  bush  if  you  could  see  it?" 

'Mubbe  I  mought,sir.     I  can' be  rightly  sure,  sir- 
to  say  sure,  sir."  "^ 

■   "  What  color  was  it,  Jesse  ?     Was  it  yellow,  or  red  ?  » 
asked  the  constable. 

"  WuU  Mr.  Gulpin,  it  was  dark  lookun ;  T  couldn'  say 
gezacly,  but  'twas  dark-lookun  ;  and  Iz » 

"  That's  pretty  well,  Jesse  ;  you  kept  all  'the  wits  you" 
had  about  you  if  you  did  get  frightened.     Can  you  see 
It  from  here  ?  ' 


I;: 


I     5 

I 

•  r 


^  '■  I 


ii 


124 


Tllf:   SEW   VUIKST. 


TJ.e  fisherman  surveyed  the  wliole  suirounding  scenery 

with  an  eye  that  from  infancy,  almost,  had  learned  to  note 

landmarks ;  and  here  were  plenty  of  bushes  to  choose 

from,— a  wilderness  of  them,--but   he  recognized  none. 

Here  and  there,  at  a  distance,  were  still  scattered  a  few 

persons  who  seemed  to  be  searching. 

"  Ef  I  was  down  at  tother  side  o'  they  bushes,"  he 
began. 

"  Surely,  Jesse,  that's  only  reasonable ;  you're  a  better 
sailor  than  I  be." 

"  Ay,  Jesse,"  said  the  Minister,  who  had  been  looking 
^with  eager  but  sad  eyes  over  the  waste;   "get  down 
-somewhere  whej-e  you  can  see  it  as  you  saw  it  before. 
That's  Mister  Urston's  house  over  there  ?" 
I*  Is,  sure,  sir;  that's  'e's  house,  sir,"  answered  Jesse. 
"  There's  that  new  Popish  priest,  talking  with  Skipper 
George!"  said  Gilpin;  and  as  the  Minister  turned,  he 
saw  the  companion  of  his  walk  of  a  few  days  before, 
standing  uncovered,  (perhaps  out  of  respect  to  the  bare' 
head  of  the  sorrowing  father,)  and  so  engaged  as  not  to 
see  Mr.  Wellon  and  his  party. 

"  Yes,  that  was  he  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wellon. 
"  Yes,  sir,  and  that's  just  their  way  of  going  on,"  said 
the  constable. 

"  He  won't  lead  George  Barbury  astray,"  said  the 
Mmister,  giving  a  long  look,  however,  in  that  direction. 

"  'Deed,  'e  wou'n't,  then,"  said  Jesse  Hill ;  and  the 
party  again  set  forward,  Mr.  Wellon  last. 

"  Thisam's  the  path  from  Uncle  Georgie's  w'y,"  said 
Jesse,  as  they  struck  it.  Having  gone  down  some  d's- 
tance  upon  it,  Jesse  said  : — 

"  Woul'  'ee  be  so  well  plased  as  bide  here  a  spurt,  sir? 
an'  I'll  come  back  to  'ee,  in  short.'' 


i 


TRACES   OF   THE  LOST. 


125 


Behind  them,  just  at  a  turn  of  the  way,  was  a  large 
bush.  Jesse  walked  down  the  path,  noting  the  bearings 
on  each  side,  and  turning  round  once,  he  soon  came  to 
a  stand. 

"  Plase  to  fall  astarn  a  bit,  Mr.  Gulpin,"  he  called  out; 
and  the  constable-smith  did  as  directed. 

Suddenly  they  were  all  startled  by  the  running  of  one 
of  the  distant  parties  towards  them.  The  dog  gave  a 
short  bark.  "There's  Izik,  now,  sir  !  "  said  Je^sse,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  from  where  he  stood. 

"  Have  you  found  any  signs  of  her  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wel- 
lon,  as  the  new  party  drew  near.    Their  answer  destroyed 
all  hope  from  that  source ;  they  had  only  come  to  offer  to  - 
help  the  Parson,  "  seeing  he  seemed  to  be  sarchin',  like." 
"  Well,  Jesse  ! "  said  the  constable. 
"Avast,  a  bit!  "  was  Jesse's  answer.     «  So!"  and  he 
came  back  again. 

"  Thisam's  the  bush,  sir,"  said  he.  Ef  'ee'll  plase  to 
look,  just  as  Mr.  Gulpin's  a  comun  out  from  behind  un, 
sir,  jesso  what  I  sid  corned  out,  an'  goed  right  down  here, 
didn't 'em,  Izik?" 

The  substance,  who  had  come  to  represent  the  name 
that  had  hitherto  been  so  frequent  on  Jessie's  tongue,  was 
a  gaunt,  hard-featured  fellow,  and  why  Jesse  should  have 
been  his  leader  and  principal,  (unless  because  he  was  not 
quite  as  ugly,  or  was,  perhaps,  better  off,)  was  hard  to  say. 
The  bush  stood  in  such  a  way  at  the  turning  of  the 
path,  that  a  short  man  or  a  woman  might,  on  the  other 
side,  have  been  hidden  for  a  little  distance  ;  the  ground 
being  for  a  few  rods  hollow,  and  then  ascending  again. 

Izik  Maffen,  appealed  to,  looked   dutifully  at   Jesse 
Hill  from  under  his  woollen  cap,*  and  made  his  answer  :— 

♦  or  Paisley  bonnet. 


126 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


"  I's  sure  'e  did,  then,  Jesse." 

"We  can  come  back  this  way;  let  us  go  down  to 
where  she  disappeared,  if  we  cm  find  it,"  said  the  Min- 
ister. 

"  Do  'ee  think  has  the  Pareson  got  track  o'  she  ?  "  said 
one  of  the  new  followers,  aside,— a  silent,  quiet  man,  who 
generally  kept  himself  back. 

The  sun,  rising,  as  he  was,  had  found  a  place  between 
the  clouds  to  look  out  through  upon  the  earth,  and  upon 
the  sad  search  that  these  few  men  were  making,  without 
a  trace  to  guide  them,  and  where  all  had  been  already 
searched.     The  sea  shone  before  him,  and  myriads  of 
ram-drops  glistened  on  all  sides ;    the  green  was  fairer 
and  brighter  everywhere  than  usual;  but  if  there  could 
have  been  any  possibility  of  tracing,  at  any  time,  foot- 
prmts  on  the  rough  and  gravelly  path  that  they  were  fol- 
lowing, this  rain  had  washed  all  slight  prints,  of  whatever 
kmd,  away,  had  made  its  own  marks,  heaped  up  its  little 
black  gatherings  of  mould  from  the  bushes  on  the  white 
earth,  and  filled  all  lesser  hollows  with  water. 

"  Did  it  go  all  the  way  down  here,  Jesse  ?  "  asked  Mr 
Wellon. 

"  'Is,  sir,"  answered  Jesse  Hill ;  «  sometimes  '-^  M  it, 
an'  more  times  agin  we  didn'  see  it;  but  it  g^c 
white  sail,  in  a  manner,  sir,  passin'  by  the  green  bu  , 
It  didn'  walk,  seemunly,  to  my  seemun  ;  and  Izik  Mai 

that  was  along  wi'  I, ." 

"  Where  did  you  see  the  last  of  it  ?  " 
"  Down  a  bit,  sir,  by  the  house." 

Mr.  Urston's  house  stood  along  by  the  bank  or  cliff, 
and  for  some  little  distance  round  it  the  bushes  were 
cleared  off.  The  garden,  inclosed  with  its  «  pickets " 
stretched  before  it,  towards  the  land,  (or  behind  it,  if  the 


TRACES   OF  THE  LOST. 


127 


other  side  towards  the  water  were  counted  front,)  u 
dozen  rods,  perhaps;  the  house  itself  was  uninclosed, 
and,  in  our  country  style,  a  comfortable  looking  dwellin.r, 
and  in  good  keeping-up.  Some  firs  and  other  growth, 
which  had  got  far  enough  up  the  precipice  to  stand  a 
little  above  its  edge,  would  have  prevented  any  person 
very  near  the  house  from  being  seen  from  the  place  in 
which  Jesse  Hill  and  his  comrade  had  been  on  the 
water. 

The  dogs  of  Newfoundland  are  not  unlike  the  dogs  of 
other  countries  in  their  dealings  with  one  another ;  and 
the  intrusion  or  near  approach  of  a  stranger  73  a  thing 
about  which  the  dog  at  home  gets  to  his  feet,  .and  puts  up 
his  tail,  and  bristles  his  mane,  and  shows  his  teeth. 

As  the  Minister  and  his  <  following  '  drew  towards  the 
house,  great  care  was  taken  to  prevent  a  fight  between 
his  dog  and  a  large  brindled  fellow  that  lay  growling  on 
the  flat  stone  before  Mr.  Urston's  door;  and  the  fight 
was  prevented ;  the  proper  occupant  of  the  place  being 
left  undisturbed  to  his  occupation,  and  the  other  being 
marched  off,  with  the  tramp  of  many  shod  feet,  and  ex"^ 
hortations  from  several  voices  mingled  with  his  own, 
toward  the  cliff  or  steep  bank  (for  the  shore  was  in  one 
place  one,  and  in  another  place  the  other)  at  the  water- 
side. 

A  wild  and  picturesque  chasm,  called  the  "  Worrell," 
was  broken  out  of  the  rock  near  the  house,  approached 
on  the  eastern  side  by  a  slope  of  the  land  which  was  con- 
tinued in  a  ledge  down  the  face  of  the  landward  wall,  to 
some  broken  masses  of  rock  at  the  bottom.  A  bit  of 
gray  beach  lay  among  and  beside  these  rocks  ;  and  while 
the  water  came  freely  in,  and  was  sheltered  entirely  on 
three  sides,  there  was  also  a  jutting  out  of  one  of  the 


!,.<    -. 


128 


TT?!-:   NF.W   rniKST. 


'i  till 


u 


rocky  Willis  ill  Mu,.|i  a  wny  hm  (o  Uii-ow  a  Imrrlrr  Imlf 
lU'^Hs  ihr  ,.|».|iiiijf.  and  to  ron,,  a  litll<>  miiIo  ,.„v,.  with  a 
san.l  luutoin.  .Miliivly  .Idrn,!,.,!  Uy  r\m.  11,.,,.  IMr.  I  Irs. 
ton  k.«|.t  s,.v,.ral  pimK  ami  ,»th,.rs  ivsorhMl  i.>  ||„'  ,,,„t 
for  a  c,mv,'iii<.nt  laii.linjr.,,!,,,,..  Si,ml|  (,.,.,.,  |„i,|  j.,„  ,^ 
|«»<.ll.ol,|  |.,.r„  and  tlm-o  on  llio  bn.ju.n  walls  „r  ihis'^JM,!,. 
•n  tli<«  slioiv;  an.l  n.«ar  tli<^  („|,,  wh,.ro  .s,.il  |,a.l  h.vn 
washctl  <»vi'r,  IhimIics  w««ro  jj;iH)win^. 

TUo  fislnTii,,.,,  locked  lo  Ilio  MinishM-  as  lio  snimu.d 
nuvri.lly  all  si,|,.s,  and  th,^  n.rkM  ami  l.cach  at  \\w  hot- 
toMi;  and  Ihoy  alMM.xaininrd  will.  tlu.Jr  oyos  (lio  noijrl,. 
bonn;r  gnmnd.  and  in  a  low  voic,.  oaiTiod  on  fli,.ir  sp,.,.- 
ulaJions  with  racli  oMn'r. 

"  How  Ion-  did  yon  stay  wlioro  yon  wcir  atU«r  tin- 
wl.il,.  ihinjr  had  disappoaivd  ?  "  ho  askod,  tarnin-  roniul 
to  .J,>ss,..  who,  with  Isaac  close  at  hand,  was  waiting  to  Ui 
called  ii|)on  au'ain. 

"Wi'll  now,  I  (H)nldn*  rjorhtly  say,  I»arcson  W.-lJon, 
how  lonji  it  was,  sir;  not  to  say  fr,>/,ac'ly.  sir;  but  it  wcni 

a  short  spnrt :  for  Izik  says  to  I,  scs  he, ." 

The  actual  Isaac  socin,>d  not  to  have  supplanted  the 
historical  one,  whom  Jesse  had  s,>  iVeqnentIv  introduced  ; 
hut  Jesse  had  no  lonch  of  any  thinj,^  l.„t  soieinn  serious- 
ness in  his  way  of  teUinjy  what  he  knew. 

"Hid  yon  keep  on  lookinj;,"  asked  the  iNIinister. 
"  'Is  sir.  Meed  wt«  did,  sir :  we  kep'  lookin'  so  str'i^lit 
as  a  needle  pointin'.  in  a  niann<>r,  sir;— but  we  inner  "id 
nothin'  at>er  that,— no  more,  sir.'" 

"  No  more  we  didn',  snre  eiioiijih,"  alRrmed  his  faithful 
Isjwc.  solemnly. 

"I  can  tell  'ee  now,  ,Mr,"s),id  Jesse,  who  had  ivcol- 
leottHl  hims.>lf:  -  ueM  \v  t  and  a  punt  comin'  round 
CasUe-Bay  Pom:,  wlien  ^ve  tirst  cotch   sight  o'  Uiisam* 


TflAOKS  OK  TIIR   r.OST. 


1S9 


whitu  thing,      quick  M  ev.ir   1    «ia  ilie  ,„„,t,  £   kch  to 
Jjsik,  I  Hfiyn " 

"Arnl   wlicii  you  catnc  away,  where  wm  the   punt, 
Jmse?"  *^   • 

"  When  we  corned  aw'y,  nlr,  they  was  ahout  a  half 
w'yH  n|)  to  we  Hir,  wi*  onr«  an'  wind,  doin'  their  bent ;  an' 

1  Hid  it  was  Nuhlhan " 

,     "  How  long  would  that  inko.  them  ?" 

"  Could  n'  'avo  abin  less  than  five  minutes,  sir  ;  that's 
a  sure  eas('." 

Isaac  was  appcah-d  to  by  a  look  of  the  speaker,  and 
adinned  tin.  Htufcrruint. 

"  That's  a  sure  case,  ,I(;sse,"  said  ho. 

"And  you  watched,  all  that  time?" 

"Ts,  sir,  we  did,  sir;  an'  a  long  time  arter  that;  so 
long  as  ever  we  could  see  the  place,  while  we  was  rowinir 
aw'y."  ® 

"  Was  it  getting  dark  ?  " 

•'  No,  I'areson,  it  wasn'  gettun  dark  ;  the  sun  had  jest 
aknockcd  off.     It  njought  be  a'  twilight,  sir.     We  was 

jes  comun  home,  however,  sir,  an'  I  ses " 

A  Hudd(Mi  noisy  altercation  of  the  dogs  diverted  for  the 
momcmt  all  attention  toward  tlic  house.  Mr.  Urston's 
"  J)ncker"  bad  com.^  out  to  the  path,  and  it  had  needed 
but  a  moment  to  embroil  him  with  the  stranger. 

"Mr.  (iilpin  !  "  exclaimed  the  Minister,  at  this  alarm. 
"  'E  isn'  'ere,  sir,"  answered  one  of  the  company ;  but  at 
the  moment  the  constable  appeared  at  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  set  himself,  tmderstandingly,  to  the  work  of 
keeping  the  noisy  debaters  asunder. 

Immediately  behind  appeared  a  woman  of  about  sixty 
years,  announced  among  Mr.  Wellon's  company  as '  Granny 
CaUoi-an ' !  whom  we  have  called  young  Urstou's  nurse* 

VOL.  I.  J> 


*-n 


180 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


She  wns  one  of  tlioso  women  in  whom  the  process  of  dry- 
ing away  with  age  Hcems  to  leave  the  easenee  of  will  and 
energy,  con«;entrated,  after  the  manner  of  a  chemical 
evaporation.  Her  features,  too,  haci  that  expression  of 
standing  out,  that  befits  such  a  character. 

Without  noticing  Gilpin,  who  had  the  Minister's  dog  by 
the  collar,  she  set  hernclf  directly  in  front  of  the  other, 
putting  her  a[)ron  over  his  face.  At  the  same  time,  with 
a  brisk  blow  of  the  foot,  she  sent  what  had,  very  likely, 
been  the  object  of  contention  into  the  open  hole  of  the 
dog's  kennel,  under  the  corner  of  the  house,  near  which 
Gdpin  stood.  The  constable,  as  suddenly  snatched  it 
out. 

"  It's  a  bad  ould  book,  that's  afther  bein'  burnt,"  said 
Mrs.  Calloran,  who  saw  the  motion,  holding  out  her  hand 
for  the  blackened  and  shrivelled  mass,  which  had  been, 
moreover,  disfigured  by  the  teeth  of  the  dog. 

"Jesse,  lay  hold  o'  the  dog,  a  bit,  Avill  'ee?"  said  Gil- 
pin, as  the  men  drew  up;  and  f-^ur  hands  were  imme- 
diately laid  upon  Eppy,  and  a  fur  cap  and  a  woollen  bonnet 
met  together  in  the  operation. 

"  It's  got  pretty  good  stuff  in  it,  for  a  bad  book,"  pro- 
ceeded the  constable,  as  he  carefully  disengaged  some  of 
the  leaves  from  their  sticking  together.  "  Here's  prayers, 
for  one  thing." 

"Ah!  thin,  it's  me  darter's  prayer-book  she  was 
lookin'  for,  this  while  back,  an'  niver  got  a  sight  of  it, 
good  or  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Calloran;  "an'  I'm  thankful  to 
ye  for  findln'  it  this  day." 

She  again  held  out  her  hand  for  it;  but  the  finder 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  part  with  it. 

"  You  may  thank  the  dogs  for  that,"  said  he,  continu- 
ing his  examination ;  "  it's  an  English  Prayer-Book,  any 


TRACES  OK   THE  LOST. 


181 


how.  The  one  It  belonged  to  isn't  vrvy  near  to  you,  I 
don't  think."  * 

"  An',  -sure,  isn't  all  our  pniyor-hookH  Enf^ll.sh?  D'ye 
think,  do  we  pray  in  Ilfhrew-tjlreek  ?"  retorted  Mrs. 
Calloran,  gettin;?  warm;  "ar  what?" 

She  attempted  to  recover  the  book  by  a  sudden' Hnatch, 
and  set  the  dog  tree  by  the  same  movement.  The  one- 
eyed  constable  was  too  quick  for  lu!r ;  but  the  dog  mut- 
tered, mischievously. 

At  this  moment,  the  sound  of  horse-hoofs  upon  the 
stony  ground  made  itself  heard,  even  among  men  whose 
attention  was  occupied  as  was  that  of  Gilpin  and  his  com- 
panions. 

"There's  another  of  'em!"  muttered  the  constable, 
aside.—"  That's  Father  Nicholas,  they  calls  un.— There's 
rather  too  many  of  those  gents  for  my  likin',"  he  con- 
tinued, in  his  aside,  "  'tisn't  eight  o'clock,  yet ;  two  of  'em, 
in  two  or  three  hours,  don't  mean  any  good,  I'll  go  bail." 

Th<!  horseman  was  coming,  at  a  good  <piick  trot,  alon^^ 
the  path  near  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  fi-om  the  direction  of 
Castle-Bay. 

Mrs.  Calloran,  as  if  aware,  by  sight  or  hearing,  of 
this  powerful  reinforcement  close  at  hand,  (informed,  per- 
haps, by  Gilpin's  remarks.)  i-enewed  her  strength  ;  and 
her  face  gleamed  with  sati  fiu-tion,  even  in  the  midst  of 
its  looks  of  vexation.     She  scoured  the  dog,  however. 

While  this  animal  was  working  himself  up  to  a  rage, 
and  the  other,  also,  who  was  in  chai-ge  of  the  fishermen, 
answered  growl  for  growl,  young  Mr.  Urston  appeared, 
and  changed  the  state  of  things.  With  his  voice  and  his 
foot,  he  speedily  persuaded  Ducker  to  go  inside  of  the 
house,  and  leave  the  field  to  other  arbitrators. 

"  I'll  talk  with  Mr.  Gilpin,  Granny,"  said  he. 


182 


TIIK  NKW  PRIEST. 


,f  ill 


^"An'  can't  I  do  tluit.  meself?"  ask  d  she.  "Well, 
thin,  Mr.  Ga!i)in,  (an'  Mr.  Galpin  I  believe  it  is,  indeed,) 
let's  liave  no  words  upon  it  (an'  ycrself  a  man  that's  set 
over  the  peace)  ;  but  will  ye  give  me  the  book,  quite  an' 
paceable,  that  ye  tuk  from  this  house  ?  an'  meself  '11 
lave  ye  to  yer  company:  an'  there's  enough  o'  thim  that 
ye  wouldn't  feel  lonely,  walkin'  away  from  this,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

"  If  Mr.  Urston  will  look  here  a  minute,  (I  suppose  he 
won't  be  afraid  of  a  Protestant  book,)  I'll  show  him,  in  a 
jiftey,"  answei-ed  the  constable.  "  There  !  "  said  he,  as 
the  you'ig  man  followed  his  invitation.  « I'm  sure  if  that 
isn't  Church,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  isn't  Church. 

*  Articles  agreed  upon  by  the  Archbishops  and  Bishops  of 
both   Provinces,  and  the  whole   Clergy : '—and   there's 

•  Articles  of  the  Church  of  England.'     Does  that  book 
belong  here  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  James  Urston,  "  it's  not  your  book, 
Granny,  and  it  does  not  belong  to  any  one  here." 

"There    seems    to   be    some   little    misunderstanding 
between  you  and  your  excellent  neighboi-s,"  said  a  new 
voice,  very  blandly  ;  and  the   priest,  whom  Gilpin  had 
called  Father  Nicholas,  appeared,  on  foot,  near  the  house. 
He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  of  an  appearance 
that  would  strike  even  a  rude  man,  at  first  glance.     His 
eyes  were  deep-set  and  dark,  with  a  high  forehead,  firm, 
sharp  lips,  rnd  a  complexion  like  slightly-yellowed  ivory, 
contrasting  strongly  with  his  black  hair.     There  was  a 
settled  look   of  authority  about  him  ;   and  he  had   the 
reputation  of  being  one  whose  infiuence  was  not  less  that 
of  a  man  of  superior  mind,  than  one  who  bore  a  sacred 
ofiice.     Almost  less   was  popularly  known  or   reported 
about  this  gentleman's  history,  than  about  that  of  the 


THACES   OF   THE   LOST. 


188 


new  {)rlos(  \yho  had  come  to  Peterport ;  although  Father 
Nieh()Ia.s  had  been  two  years  and  more  in  the  neighbor- 
hood,— and  the  other,  two  weeks.     ' 

His  appeaiance  disconcerted  and  drove  into  temj)orary 
retreat  behind  tlie  picket-fence  one  of  the  P«;terport  Pro- 
testants, (the  silent  and  withdrawing  man,)  rather  abashed 
Jesse  and  Isaac,  who  were  holding  the  dog,  and  even 
slightly  f  tartled  Mister  Charles  Gilpin,  smith  and  consta- 
ble ;  but  men's  minds  were  serious  and  saddened,  and  not 
likely  to  yield  to  passing  emotions  ;— Gilpin's  blood  was 
warmed,  and  that  of  his  followers  was  ready  to  back 
him  ;  and  so,  with  the  second  breath,  religious  antipathy 

.gave  them  a  very  determined  manner,  and  the  eye  of 
their  leader  took  a  new  brightness.  The  Minister,  before 
the  altercation  began,  had  gone  down  into  the  Worrell, 
(the  chasm  before-described,)  and  had  not  come  up. 

The  priest  having  given  the  different  parties  time  to 
compose  themselves,  spoke  again : — 

"  Perhaps  your  neighbors  will  excuse  you,  Mrs.  Callo- 
ran.     James,  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  come  in  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  we'll  understand  about  this  book," 
said  Gilpin.  "  He  belonged  to  a  friend  o'  mine,  and  if  Mrs. 

Calloran  wants  to  claim  un,  she  knows  where  to  come, 

and  if  she'll  prove  her  property,  she  shall  have  un.     It's 

worth  more  now  than  ever  it  cost." 

"There   must  be  some  mistake,  Mrs.  Calloran,"  said 

Father   Nicholas.      "You'd  best  drop  the   thing  where 

it  is." 

"  Lave  Skipper  Charlie  alone  for  talk,"  said  one  to  an- 
other of  the  constable's  followers,  natui-ally  feeling  not  a 
little  proud  at  his  force  of  tongue.  The  constable  him- 
self suddenly  took  another  subject. 

"  Mrs.  Calloran,"  said  he,  "  did  you  see  Mr.  Barbury's 
laughter  since  yesterday  moi'ning  ?  " 


t-i  3i 


134 


TIIK  NKW   I'HIKsr, 


"Misthcr  Barbury's  durl.T !  an'  ,li,l  I  see  hrr?     Do 
yv  JhiMk  is  it  visifin-  hor  I  was,  M.at  wasn't  in  it  or  ni-^h  it 
;lu)se  many  years !     How  would  I  b.  seeun  Misib.r liar-' 
burys  darter?     There's  oi/ur  ould  women  in  Peternort, 

''Ay  !  bat  did  you  see  her  ?  "  re{,eated'  the  eons.able, 
lioldnij,'  on  hke  a  niasJifK 

"An"  sure,"  answered  the  woman,  ''  wonlchi't  wan  an- 
swer ,lo  ye?  An'  what  for  must  ye  be  afther  eomun, 
y  I'HS  no  eall  to  it,  an'  (he  father  himseh"  beun  here 
last  cvcnun  ?  " 

''  liiit  you  n,ight  answer  a  plain  question,  and  a  short 
one,  w.th  a  plain,  .iiort  answer,  1  think,"  persisted  the 
constable. 

"  Sure  is  this  the  plaee  to  eome  askun  for  Lucy  Bar- 
bury?  An' isn't  her  father's  house  the  fit  place  to  look 
for  her,  besides  ax,m  meself,  when  it's  sorrow  a  si-^ht  I 
seen  ot  her  in  years,  I  suppose  ?  What  would  I  do  wid 
Luey  Barbury?" 

"I  can't  make  you  answer,  if  you  won't  answer  of  your 
own  aceoi.1 ;  but  there's  some  that  ean,"  said  the  eon- 
stable. 

''An'  didn't  ye  hear  me  sayun  I  didn't  know  if  I  seen 
».er  n.  years  ?  I  dono  did  1  or  no,"  answered  the  u.^eon- 
querable  womaji. 

"  But  that  isn't  answering  my  question  either;  1  asked 

Skip;;;:  air^"'-  ^^-^^  ^-^-'^y  --^"^''  p--d 

Young  Urston  secerned  mther  inclined  to  have  this  ex- 
a.un.u,on  go  on  than  to  interrupt  it.  The  Priest,  how- 
tn  cr,  mediated. 

••  M,-,  Callomn  will  doubte.  be  willing  ,o  ,u„wer  any 
reasonable  question,"  said  he.   "  I  sup^.e  vo„  have  .orae 


TRACKS   OF  THE   LOST. 


135 


good  reason  for  asking.  You  wisli  to  know  whether  sh« 
saw  this  young  person,  or  old  person,  whichever  it  is, 
yesterday  ?  Whether  she  got  some  message  from  her, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  sa-'d  Gilpin;  "Mr.  Barbury's  daughter's 
missing,  and  we  want  to  find  her,  or  find  out  what's  be- 
come of  her." 

"Is  it  left  her  father's  house?  Sure  that's  not  a  very 
good  story  of  a  young  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Calloran,  raor- 
aliziiiT. 

"  Granny!"  said  young  Urston,  sternly,  "you'll  please 
not  to  speak  disrespectfully." 

"If  it's  lost  she  is,  thin  may  God  find  her!"  said  she, 
more  softly. 

"Of  course  it  will  be  cleared  up,"  said  the  Priest; 
"  theni's  some  explanation  of  it ;  and  I  only  hope  it  will 
come  out  happily  for  all.  You  can  say  whether  you 
know  where  she  is,  or  any  thing  about  her,  Mrs.  Calloran, 
and  you  needn't  keep  your  neighbors  waiting." 

"  Sure  thin,  yer  riverence.  Father  Nicholas,"  said  Mrs. 
Calloran,  "  it's  not  meself  asked  thim  fo  wait ;  but  if  it's 
Where's  Lucy  Barbury,  indade  I  dono,  more  than  I  know 
where  the  injens  is." 

"Now,  Mr.  Constable,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you're  satisfied, 
as  I'm  pressed  for  time  ;  but  I  won't  hurry  you." 

"  I  haven't  got  any  thing  more  to  ask  just  now,  sir," 
said  the  constable. 

"  Then  I'll  wish  you  good  morning,"  said  the  priest, 
and  went  into  the  house,  followed  by  Mrs.  Calloran. 
Before  going  in  after  them  Mr.  Urston  said,— 
"  She  nursed  me  as  early  as  I  can  remember,  almost  ; 
but  if  it  were  necessary  to  dig  down  my  father's  house  to 
fin.   a  trace,  I  say,  go  on !     I'll  build  it  again." 


1   I 


136 


Xiii.  x\iivv  i^iiiiiar. 


CHAPTER  XVL 


SEARCHING    STILL. 


S  the  constable  and  his  company  drew  near  the 
"  Worrell,"  whither  Epictetus,  the  Minister's  dog, 
had  gone  immediately  on  finding  himself  at 
large,  Mr.  Welloii  and  the  man  whom  he  had  taken  down 
with  him  were  coming  up. 

"Here's  something  that  may  have  been  her's,"  said 
the  Minister,  turning  to  his  companion,  who  held  up  a 
I'l'iiii  white  cap,  whicli  all  crowded  about  and  looked 
upon,  in  sacred  silence. 

It  was  marked  with  red  thread,  already  faded,  "  L.  B." 
Jesse  had  uncovered  his   honest  red  locks  before  it, 
and  more  than  one  of  his  comrades  put  the  back  of  his 
hand  to  his  eyes. 

Presently  tlie  general  voice  said  sadly,  "  That's  Lucy's, 
and  no  mistake." 

"It  was  part  of  that  figure  that  Jesse  and  Isaac  saw, 
I  think,"  said  the  Minister,  in  the  same  tone. 

"Do  'ee  think  'twould  wear  a  real  cap,  sir ?"  asked 
Jesse,  who  doubtless  looked  upon  what  he  had  seen,  on 
the  evening  before,  as  a  preternatural  sight. 

"I  think  it  was  her  real  self,"  answered  Mr.  Wellon, 
looking  wistfully  upon  the  path,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  the  path  of  death,  or  strange  disaster,  to  the  girJ 


SEARCJfflNG  STILL.  ^37 

Who  had  so  lately  been  one  of  the  chief  joys  and  beauties 
of  the  place. 

"Where  did  you  find  it,  sir?"  inquired  the  con- 
stable. 

"At  the  bottom  of  the  Worrell,  on  the  sand  under 
one  of  the  punts  that  Zebedee  turned  over.  It  may  have 
floated  in  on  the  tide.-I  think  you  told  me  that  boats 
were  out  along  the  shore  here  and  round  the  point?  " 

"Ay.  sir,  Cap'n  Nolesworth  and  George  Karnes,  you 
know,  his  mate,  were  round  Castle-Bay  harbor,  and  some 
are  down  now,  by  land,  to  Bay-Harbor,  and  to  Brians ; 
Jonathan  Frank  one  way,  and  Skipper  Henry  Ressle 
t  other  way.  Young  Urston,  here,  was  out  all  ni-ht  wi' 
a  lantern,  sculling  into  every  place  along  shore  ;  but  there 
wasn't  a  scred  nor  a  scrap  to  be  found  ;  and  Solomon 
Kelley  and  Nahth  Marchant  were  out  till  morning ;  but  I 
think  now  we'll  get  some  track  of  her,  please  God,  dead 
or  alive." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Wellon,  ''  if  she's  alive,  as  I 
hope,  we  must  hear  from  her;  or  if  she's  lost  in  the 
water,  as  she  may  be,  we  may  hope  to  find  her  body. 
(God  help  us !)  We  must  get  word  to  every  place  that 
she  could  go  to." 

The  lifeless  relic  that  they  had  recovered,  heavy  and 
drippmg  with  the  ocean  water,  while  it  brought  them 
near  to  her  in  one  respect,  yet  gave  deep  meaning  to  the 
suggestion  that  she  might  have  perished  in  the  sea  ;  and 
m  this  way  it  seemed  to  impress  them  all. 

"  If  I  can  get  a  crew,  by  and  by,  I'll  go  round  the 
shore,  and  give  one  look  by  daylight."  said  the  Minister. 

"  Ef  'ee'll  plase  to  take  me  an'  Izik,"  said  Jesse  Hill, 
"  we'll  be  proud  to  go  along  wi'  'ee,  sir." 

«  '  Deed  we  woul',"  said  Isaac  Maffen. 


mi 

'!  I  iji  i 


fUh 


!!  I' 

in 

1 1 ,; 


138 


THE  NEW  PRrEST. 


mI  Wet?""  '""  "  "^  '"  ^'"-'^'  "'»"gh."a»i.- 

sails  "  r;  "!""  "  '"*  '™^-  P"-°"  Wellon," 
said  Jesse.  I  don  know  who's  got  a  right,  ef  I  haven'  » 
and  Isaac  assented  :  "All  so,  Jesse  "  -""aven, 

Hard"' ''"  ""'■'  "'"'''■'  ■■'  ''"  P'-^^'  -•"  -id  Zebedce 

plete*°Thi,f"!u'""'-'''"'^'^'»"''  "■«  <="-  was  com- 
tioned.  """  '"'  •"'""  '"^■'  — '  'taes  ™e„. 

s.wl»''"sif°'srf  ™  '°  ""^  ''"""^  «-''  "f-e  *at,  I 
the  wel-'™        '^'^^'"'''  '""""g  gravely  round  toward 

-wrrhf.sr„^:r  ™' ^ 

said^j?;.' w'if''  "'""  ""^^'P  "«"  ""«'  -"  conte  hack," 
eltff  J:"?"'    :""  *-  -  '""»  "ave  something,  I, 
>ep  rf  we  get  noth.ng  „,ore.     Will  you  take  charge  of  . 

"Whatever  'ee  says,  sir,"  said  Jesse  gravely-   "n 

-dkpe?::a"Xn7;:t^:::r:aVs^^^^ 
ot;rrritsr^-«---«~: 

you  W''   He^r'"^  '  '?  ''  "'■^  -'''  -^  '  -  '"  ™  wi' 

"  We"n  take  ,        r''"'""^  '"'"  "  "'*  "'>"'  ^ands. 
off  r  '"  «•"  '"""'^*'"S  '«  «"'.  and  then  be 

off  «  soon  as  we  can,"  said  Mr.  Wellon. 

givi^^di^trd"^::::^^^^^^^^ 

ta-diately,  addressing:-   pX-^  '""'"  '"'  '"  ^^ 


SKARCITTXG   STJLL. 


189 


m'y  make  bold.    It's  poor  ofFenm'  «;r  T  l 

missu,  -ull  be  clear  proud."  '     ^""""  '  ""'  ^ 

Isaac  Maffen  o„fb,-ced  the  invitation  in  hi,  fashion  • 

Mr.  Wellon  accepted,  at  once,  the  ready  hosoilaUtv  • 
d  Jes,e,  .,aying  ><  Come  then,  Iziic,"  led  the",  ^^^^^ r'^' 

s    ak  n?'  s  '  "  Tf  "''"'y'  --'•'■'  '"'P-  -d'witto 
»peak.ng.     Sk.p^er  CImrlie  was  not  among  the  company 

hi  mate  H'       .T  '''"''"'''''  "-^"^  J--  ^^^ 
nis  mate,  took  care  of  themselves. 

The  cap  was  deposited  safely  upon  the  Family  Bible 
to  await  their  comin^r  back  fmm  fi.l  !■  ' 

then  Jessp'^  wJf^  "^"^  expedition  ;  and 

r?i     T^  '  ^^'^'"^  '"^"Sh  to  exercise  hospitality 

for  the  Minister,)  urged  him,  modestly,  to  "plase  to  m  II 
use  o'  the  milk,"  (which  is  quite  a  lux^r,  a.non!  Z.^ 

;Lti™^"^  -' '' ''' '  --''  *  -^ «"  ^e:r 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  finished  their  hurried  meal 
and  were  shortly  at  the  water-side.    Zebedee  and  the  7ht 
were  already  there. 

They  skirted  the  shore  along  by  Frank's  Cove,  and 
Mad  Cove,  and  round  Mad  Head  and  Castle-Bay  pZt 
Nothtng  had  been  seen  or  heard  that  would  throw  uZ 
upon  the  mystery,  and  the  Minister  set  out  to  go  blhn 

itConZT'"'l  ''""'  ""='"  "'^  "■""'» -evv  made 
me  oest  ot  their  way  by  water. 

The  beach  was  strewed  with  empty  shells,  and  weeds 
and  rubbtsh,  and  whited  with  a  line  of  foam,  and   a,  U 
chanced,  among  the  other  worthless  things  the"    1^;  a 
*  A  fresh  young  fish  broiled. 


140 


THE   NEW  PRIEST. 


■ 


woman's  shoe  which  Mv.  Wellon  ran  to,  and  snatched 
eagerly,  but  saw  at  a  glance,  was  nothing  to  his  purpose. 
He  threw  it  from  him  into  the  water,  and  his  dog,  exult- 
ing,  leaped  in  and  secured  it.  His  search  was  done,  and 
he  went  slowly  home. 

^^  When  at  length  after  waiting  hours,  that  information, 
i.-  any  were  to  come,  might  come,  he  sought  Jesse,  who 
was  the  depositary  of  the  little  thing  recovered  from  the 
sea ;  the  day— the  last  of  the  week,— was  drawing  towards 
evening,  and  twenty-four  hours  had  passed  since  Lucy's 
strange  and  sad  disappearance. 

"  I  said  I  wouldn'  start  un  tell  'ee  corned,  sir,"  said  Jesse. 
"'Ee  did  so,  Jesse,"  said  Isaac,  who  was  still  w.th  him, 
and  without  delay  the  little  procession  set  forth. 

The  fisherman  bore  the  relic  reverently  in  his  two 
hands,  and  carefully  and  quickly,  as  if  it  were  an  unsub- 
stantial thing  of  frost,  that  might  be  wasted  by  the  way. 
Near  the  door  of  the  house  of  mourning,  Jesse  and  Isaac 
drew  aside  and  would  not  go  in,  and  Jesse  gave  the  slight 
memorial  into  the  Parson's  hand,  and  he,  uncoverin<r 
himself,  went  in  alone.  ° 

Skipper  George,  who  sate  silently  in  his  chimney-side, 
with  his  wife  and  little  Janie,  rose  up  and  took  off  his 
baton  seeing  his  pastor;  the  wife  courteseyed  and  wept. 
The  Minister   put   the   relic    into  his   hj^nd,  without 
speaking. 

«  Have  'ee—  ?  'Is,  sir,— 'Is,  sir,"  said  the  father,  con- 
fusedly, taking  the  precious  thing,  but  turning  it  over  as 
if  he  could  not  see  it,  for  something  in  his  eyes,  "it's 
her's,  it's  her's.     Ah  !  God's  will  be  done  !  " 

Mr.  Wellon  said  nothing  of  the  constable's  hope  or 
expectation  of  tracing  her. 

The  mother  sobbed  once,  and  wept  silently,  and  Skip- 
per  George  rallied  himself. 


>!.j 


SEARCHLNU    STILI, 


14  J 


or 


"  So  !  so!  mother,"  said  ho,  soothingly,  "  this  '11  never 
do !  There,  there  I  take  it  and  put  it  by ;  mayhap  the 
dear  maid  '11  wear  it  agin,  in-short,  please  God." 

The  Minister's  eye  was  caught  by  a  lead-pencil-drawing, 
that  lay  on  tlie  bench. 

"  That's  her  doun,  sir,"  said  the  father,  sadly. 

"  I  did  n't  know  she  could  draw,"  answered  the  Minis- 
ter, taking  into  his  hand  the  paper,  blurred  somewhat, 
and  blistered. 

"  No  more  did  n'  I,  sir;  it  was  the  last  doun  she  doned ; 
we  found  it  next  day  where  she  dropped  it,  when  she 
went  to  bed.  She  must  ha'  larned  o'  Miss  Dare,  or  the 
widow-lady." 

The  Minister  gazed  long  at  it,  and  then  said,—"  I  don't 
know  much  about  drawing;  but  I  should  say  there  was 
great  talent  here.  I  can't  think  how  she  should  be  able 
to  do  this  ice." 

"Athout  she  minds  about  the  ice  comun  in,  years  ago, 
when  she  was  a  little  thing,  about  so  big  as  Janie." 

"It's  wonderful,  really!"  said  the  Minister.  "This 
vessel  going  off,  and  the  man  left  behind." 

Skipper  George  said,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"Ay,  sir,  that  vessel  never  corned  home  again  !  Nor 
no  word  ever  comed  of  her!— Will  'ee  pla°e  make  a 
pr'yer,  sir?"  added  the  father. 

All  kneeled  down  by  the  fireside ;  the  mother  crying ; 
the  father  full  of  woe  as  he  could  hold,  but  more  full  of 
faith  and  will,  and  little  Janie  holding  fast  in  both  hands 
some  stones  with  which  she  had  been  at  play. 

The  Minister  prayed  for  help  to  find  the  lost  child,  and 
for  grace  to  do  and  bear  God's  will,  and  to  learn  meekly 
His  lesson. 

"  Would  n'  'ee  be  plased  to  set  fast,  sir  ?  "  asked  the 


I, 


U'.<  I 


143 


TlIK  .Ni:\V  VliA:6T. 


fiHh  .man,  as  h.s  Pastor  moved  to  go.  "  Well,  «ir,  we 
«lmll  bo  proud  to  see  'ec  aj,.ti„ ;  au.l-it  comes  heavy  to 
bear;  but  we'll  do  our  best,-  wi'  God's  help." 

The  sturdy  man  followed  the  Minister  to  the  outsido 
of  the  house,  and  then,  lowering  his  voiee,  said,- 

"I've  abin  to  li'y-IIarbor,  sir,  uu'  I've  ubin  to  Brigus  • 
but  there's  nawthun,  sir  I"  ^     ' 

"  %  la.id  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wellon. 
"'I«,sir,  an'  put  my  poor  ol'  sorry  face  into  araany, 
many   houses-but  they   were  kind,  sir,  they  were  all 
kind,  sir.     Ihey  sid  I  was  heavy  hearted,  an'  they  were 
very  pitiful  over  me." 

"Why,  you've  been  forty  miles!"  said  Mr.  Wellon 
rather  to  himself.  "It  must  be;  besides  being  out  all 
night,     lou  must  take  rest.     It's  a  duty." 

"'Is,  sir,  an'  tb-morrow  's  Sunday,  and  even  when  the 
Lord  was  dead,  they  w'ited  an'  '  rested  on  the  Sabbath- 
day,  according  to  commandment,'  afore  ever  they  'd  'balm 
Es  blessed  body.  There  isn'  e'er  a  thing  to  be  doned 
now,  sir,  that  I  knows,  an'  I  m'y  as  well  rest  bumbye, 
an  ef  I  can  t,  mubbe,  get  sleep  right  aw'y,  I  can  prV 
for  un,  however."  '    ^ 

"And  good  days  will  come,  I  hope,  shortly." 
"Ay,  sir,  they  '11  come,"  said  Skipper  George.    «  They 
11  come ! "  °  j 

How  far  ahead  he  looked,  he  gave  no  sign;  but  he 
spoke  confidently.  b    ,     ui  ne 

"An'  I  know  she'll  fir.d  home,"  he  said,  «ef  she  never 

comes  to  this  place  no  more,  sir.     There's  others  have 

agot  sore  hearts,  so  well  as  we.     That  good  lady  that's 

OSS  d  er  husband  an'  'er  child,  takes  stren'th,  an'  comforts 

them  that  wants,  an'  I  musn'  give  up." 

Mr.  Wellon  pressed  his  hand  and  left  him. 


ji 


SKARCHING    STI|,L. 


148 


As  he  cume  out  upon  the  ridge  from  which  he  was  to 
go  down  to  the  road,  his  eye  was  eanglu  hy  the  Ihish  of  a 
white  Huil,  and  he  .stopped  to  gaze.         ' 

It  was  the  Spring-hird  gliding  fast  hy  the  hind  in  her 
way  out  to  liay-IIarhor,  from  which  she  was  to  clear  (or 
Madcua.  A  ship's  .ihMit  going-forth  is  a  solemn  thin^., 
and  to  sad  n.inds  a  sad  one.  There  was  silence  too  on 
board  the  brig,  in  this  case,  in  tribute  to  the  prevailing 
sorrow  of  the  little  town,  and  «he  had  no  streamer  or  flag 
flying  at  peak  or  truck. 

Does  the  sea  hold  the  secret  ? 

Along  the  wharves,  along  the  little  beaches,  around  the 
circuit  of  the  little  coves,  along  the  smooth  or  broken  face 
of  rock,  the  sea,  which  cannot  rest,  is  busy.     These  little 
waves  and  this  long  swell,  that  now  are  here  at  work, 
have  been  ere  now  at  home  in  the  great  inland  sea  of 
Lurope,  breathed  on  by  soft,   warm   winds   from   fruit- 
groves,   vineyards,   and    wide    fields    of    flowers;    have 
sparkled  in  the  many-coloured  lights  and  felt  the  trivial 
oars  and   dallying  fingers  of  the   loiterers   on  the   Ion- 
canals  of  Venice;  have  quenched  the  ashes  of  the  Dutch"- 
mans  pipe,  thrown   overboard  from    his    dull,  laborincr 
treckschuyt;  have  wrought  their  patient  tasks  in  the  dim 
caverns  of  the  Indian  Archipelago;  have  yielded  to  the 
little  builders  under  water  means  and  implements  to  rear 
their  towering  altar,-dwelling,-monnm(mt. 

These  little  waves  have  crossed  the  ocean,  tumbling 
hke  porpoises  at  play,  and  taking  on  a  savage  nature  in 
the  Great  Wilderness,  have  thundered  in  close  ranks  and 
countless  numbers,  against  man's  floating  fortress  ;  have 
stormed  the  breach  and  climbed  up  over  the  walls  in  the 
ships  riven  side;  have  followed,  howling  and  hungry  as 
mad    wolves,  the  crowded   raft;   have   leaped    upon    it, 


»     i-1 


' 


I! 


liii   'It 


144 


iMK   NKW  PKIKST. 


if  'i 


I  I 


^nalclnn.  off,  ,„.e  by  ono,  ,!.„  weary,  worn-o.,t  mon  and 
wom.M.;     ave.akcM.  „p„ndU„eHlo»r,^,^^ 

^    •"^"  ^-<^ -J  the  long  spar,  <W,m  wIud^na^^s  clan.I?^ 
cordage  wastes,  by  degrees,  and  yields  i.s  plaee  to  Ton; 
green  s.rea.neivs  mneh  like  those  that  elung         j.  tall 
taper  tree,  when  it  stood  in  the  northern  fbr^st.         " 

Ihese  wave,  have  rolled  their  breasts  about  amid  the 

wreeks  and  weeds  of  the  hot  stream  that  comes  up  many 

H.onsands  of  n.des,  out  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexi<.,'as  the 

gnat  M  ss,ss,pp.  goes  down  into  it,  and  by  and  by  these 

aves  wdl  move,  all  numb  and  ehilled,  among  the  mighty 

iTX         "'"'^^'^^^^^"^"^^  ^«  brought\,own  f'om 

Busy,  wandering,  reckless,  heartless,  .nurderous  waves! 

lower  Deep  the  mnocent  body  of  our  missing  girl,  after 
'•at  ye  had  tossed  it  about,  from  one  to  anothe;,  n" 
wmmg  the  long  hair,  one  lock  of  which  would  be'so  dear 

to  some  that  live;  smearing  the  eyes  that  were  so  glad 

and  gladdenmg ;— sliming  the 

Oh  I  is  that  body  in  the  sea  ? 

p~'^^^'^  ''  "'''^^  ^^^°  °"«  "mystery  in  little  Petei^ 


WIIK  H    WAY   SUSPICION  LEADS. 


145 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

WHICH    WAY   SUSPICION    LEADS. 

>^HE  Minister  had  hml  no  time  for  Mrs.  Barrfe,  or 

11^  any  ,hi„^  but  the  search.   That  Saturday  evening 

jVL/  he  and  the  constable  sate  together  in  consultation 

n    he  fonners  study,  putting  together  their  in tbrmation 

ami  conjectures.    Gilpin's  suspicions  had  been  aroused  as 

Tr  d"t  M   T  ''".  °"  '"  P-yor.book  that  he  had  se^ 
cured  at  Mr.  Urston's ;  and  he  had  found,  in  the  middle,  a 
book-mai-k  bearing  a  drawing  of  a  lamb,  with  the  legend, 
I  am  the  Good  Shepherd,"  and  the  letters  «L.  B"  i„ 
delicate  German  text.    This  mark  Miss  Dare  had  already 
recognized  as  one  which  she  herself  had  given  to  Lucy 
Barbury,  since  her  sickness.     On  the  inside  of  the  covei 
however,  was  the  name  "Lucy  Barbury"  still  legible,' 
fiom  having  been  also  written  in  German  text,  though 
with  a  less  practised  hand.     The  latter  had  been  iden- 
tifaed  by  the  mother  as  Lucy's  own  writing 

w.-?M ''' n^r^^'"'''"  '^  *^"  ^'"^^^  *^^«»  ^»  connection 

I  hT'!;  '"""'^  ^"'"^^  "^  ^-^S^^-^  '^  ^^'  ™ade  it 
probable  that  it  was  in  her  house  that  it  had  been  given 
to  the  fire.  ° 

whether  she  had  seen  the  missing  maiden  since  Friday 
mornin  J' 

VOL.  I,  10 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 

— "  But  she  contrived  to  tell  different  stories  about  the 
Prayer-book,"  said  the  Minister ;  "  why  shouldn't  she, — 
if  she  had  occasion, — about  seeing  Lucy  Barbury  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  they  won't  lie'  to  a  straightforward  ques- 
tion ;  and  they'll  lie  fast  enough,  of  their  own  tongue : 
and  then  the  Priest  was  there  that  time,  and  he  wasn't, 
I  he  other." 

"  You're  too  severe  upon  Roman  Catholics,"  said  Mr. 
Wellon. 

"  Not  upon  her  sort  o'  Roman  Catholics,"  answered  the 
constable ;  "  I  know  'em,  sir, — too  well." 

"  We  seem  to  have  traced  her  to  just  about  that  place," 
said  Mr.  Wellon,  musing ; — "  so  far  she  seems  to  have 
gone  on  her  own  feet, — and  alone." 

— "  And  there  they  picked  her  up,  when  she  fell  down," 
said  the  constable,  "  and  then  those  nuns  carried  her  off." 

"  What  nuns  ?  " 

"  That  Cap'n  Nolesworth  saw  ;  and  this  Yankee, — Mr. 
Banks,  they  call  un,  sir, — he  was  prying  about  there,  last 
night,  just  when  these  nuns  were  going  away  from  the 
house.  When  he  was  telling  his  story  he  said  they  car- 
ried something ;  and  so  I  followed  un  up.  He  couldn't 
tell  what  it  was,  for  the  night  was  dark  ;  but  there  were 
two  or  three  women,  and  carrying  something  among  'em 
down  the  Worrell,  there.  Being  a  stranger,  he  didn't 
want  to  be  brought  in,  he  said;  'twould  knock  up  his 
business." 

"  It's  a  pity  he  hadn't  helped  carry  her  down,  while  he 
was  about  it ! "  said  the  Parson ;  "  and  then  we  should 
have  had  some  better  evidence." 

"  Then  there's  Cap'n  Nolesworth  knows  what  he's 
about ;  and  he  come  right  across  their  punt,  and  had  a 
good  look  at  it,  with  his  lantern.     They  pulled  for  dear 


WHICH  WAY  SUSPICION  LEADS.  ^47 

life :  but  he  says  he's  sure  he  saw  somebody  they  were 
holding  „p.--That's  how  her  cap  got  down  there,"  con- 
eluded  the  constable. 

The  Minister  was  struck  with  Gilpin's  statement,  which 
was  conhrmed,  slightly,  by  the  few  circumstances  and 
tacts  ot  the  case  within  their  knowled^^e 

"But,"  said  he,  "there's  no  proo^  and  who  do  you 
suppose  13  at  the  bottom  of  it  ? " 

Father   Nicholas."      Mr.   Wellon   smiled.-"  And   then 
that^jiew  priest  just  coming  here!"  exclaimed  the  con- 

"It's  a  J  popish  plot,'  with  a  vengeance!"  said  the 
Minister ;  with  priests  and  nuns  and  all.  But  what 
should  she  do  it  for?  and  what  should  the  priests  and 
nuns  be  concerned  in  it  for?" 

"If  Granny  Calloran  got  a  fair  chance  at  one  of  Mrs 
Barbury  s  daughters,--ay,  and  one  that  young  Urston 
was  leaving  their  priesthood  for,-she'd  do  it  fast  enough, 
sir  1 1  go  bail.  She'd  steal  'em  to  make  Romans  of  'e^ 
and  shed  steal  her  to  get  her  out  of  his  way;  and  the 
priests  and  nuns  'd  be  ready  enough  to  lend  a  hand  at 
that  work,  and  no  mistake.  'Twas  only  t'other  day  there 
was  that  case  at  home,  in  Lancashire." 

"  Ay,  bn  Lucy  can't  have  conspired  with  them,"  said 
the  Minister,  upon  whom  Gilpin's  convictions  made  some 
impression  ;-«if  there's  any  thing  sure  on  earth  '» 

"I  can't  say  for  that,  sir,"  said  Gilpin  ;  but  then,  cor- 
recting himself,  did  justice  to  Lucy,  without  injustice  to 
Ins  argument.  «  Oh  no  !  "  said  he,  "if  there's  truth  on 
earth,  she  s  got  it ;  but  she's  been  crazy,  by  spurts,  ever 
since  she  was  sick,  you  know,  sir." 

"  To  be  sure,"  answered  the  Parson  ;  «  but  she  hasn't 


i'i' 


148 


THE  NEW  TRIEST. 


^li  I' 


Vi.      '1' 


)  I 


run  away  every  day ;  and  I  don't  suppose  these  nuns 
have  been  over,  every  day ;  and  they  happened,  some 
how,  to  be  just  in  time." 

"  So  they  might,  sir,  they  might ;  just  as  it  happened 
there  was  nobody  with  Lucy,  and  nobody  in  the  way,  on 
the  whole  path.  The  nuns  were  there,  any  way,  sir ;  and 
Lucy  was  down  there, — Jesse  saw  her  on  the  road ; — and 
there's  her  Prayer-book, — come  out  o'  the  house ;  and  the 
nuns  carried  something  down ;  and  you  found  her  cap 
down  below ;  and  there  was  the  one  Cap'n  Nolesworth 
saw  in  the  punt,"  answered  the  constable,  summing  up, 
very  effectively ;  "  and  Granny  Calloran  afraid  to  answer, 
till  the  priest  told  her  how ;  and  doing  her  worst  not  to 
let  me  have  that  book  ;  and  he  helping  her." 

"  How  do  you  mean  *  telling  her  how  to  answer  ? '  " 
"  I  asks  her, '  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Barbury's  daughter, 
since  yesterday  morning  ? '  three  times  ;  and  she  puts  me 
off  with  Irish  palaver ;  and  then  he  says, '  you  needn't 
keep  'em  waiting,  Mrs.  Calloran;  you  can  tell  whether 
you  know  where  she  is ; '  and  so  she  says,  fast  enough, 
*  No ;  I  don't  know,  any  more  than  I  knows  where  the 
Injins  is  ; '  or  '  the  wild  Injins.' " 

"  Do  you  think  young  Urston  is  concerned  ?  " 
"  I  don't  think  he  is,  sir ;  he  doesn't  seem  like  it.  He 
didn't  seem  to  be  one  of  'em  t'other  day.  He's  very  much 
cut  up,  and  he's  been  out  all  night ;  but  that  isn't  all. 
When  I  saw  things  looking  that  way,  I  thought  I'd  make 
one  of  'em,  if  I  could,  while  that  priest  was  there ;  and 
I  got  one  ear  in  among  'em,  far  enough." 

*'  The  priest  talked  very  serious  to  the  young  man,  and 
¥aid  'he  was  sorry  for  his  disappointment;  it  seemed  a 
visitation  of  God,'  he  said.  '  Now  he'd  find  he  couldn't 
set  lis  heart  on  earthly  things  ;  and  the  only  way  was  to 


WHICH  WAY  SUSPICION  LEADS. 


149 


fly  to  God  while  the  wound  was  fresh ;  to  think  of  his 
promises  ;  and  to  think  what  he'd  cast  away.'  He  said 
'  others  had  been  through  it ; '  (and  it  seemed  as  if  he'd 
cry,  wliile  he  was  about  it ;)  '  but,'  he  said,  '  they'd  found 
the  balm,'  or  'the  myrrh';  and  then  he  came  to  busi- 
ness, and  told  un  '  to-morrow  was  the  very  day  for  un  to 
go  to  St.  John's  ;  and  he'd  go  along  with  un,  and  there 
was  a  glorious  path  for  un.'  Mrs.  Calloran  only  vexed 
un,  with  telling  him  how  Protestants  despised  un." 

"  You  listened  to  some  purpose,"  said  the  Parson. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'd  good  reason." 

"And  how  did  he  take  it  all  ?  " 

"  He  told  the  priest  '  he  was  sorry  to  disappoint  un ; 
but  his  mind  was  made  up,  and  he'd  given  over  being  a 
priest ; '  and  then  there  was  a  stir  among  'em,  and  I  come 
away,  and  in  two  or  three  minutes  the  priest  was  ridin» 
away  home." 

The  Minister  sate  a  little  while  in  thought,  and  then 
said : — 

"  If  they  carried  her  away,  it's  a  very  strange  thing ! 
There  seems  certainly  a  clue  as  fine  as  a  spider's  web, 
leading  to  that  suspicion." 

"  It  looks  as  plain  as  a  ship's  wake  to  me,  sir,"  said 
Gilpin,  his  eye  shining  like  the  star  that  guides  sailors  on 
a  trackless  sea. 

"  But  what  can  we  make  of  it,  beyond  suspicion  ?  " 

« If  we  had  a  magistrate  that " the  constable  began, 

in  a  tone  of  small  observance  towards  the  greater  official 
under  or  around  whom  he  moved. 

'^  We've  got  a  magistrate,"  said  the  Parson,  smiling 
taking  the  words  as  if  there  had  not  been  a  "  that "  at 
their  end  ;  "  and  we  must  get  all  this  before  him.  Will 
you  go  to  Mr.  Naughton,  and  tell  him  what  you've  seen 


!■■!: 


150 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


iV 


and  heard  ?  and  I'll  make  a  memorandum  of  what  we've 
been  over  to-night,  to  serve,  if  there's  occasion." 
"And  we'd  better  not  talk,  sir,  I  suppose  ?" 
"  Oh  !  no.     Is  that  Mr.  Bangs,  the  American,  to  be 
had,  if  he's  wanted  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wellon. 

"  He's  going  to  set  up  a  shop  here,  in  fall,  I  believe, 
sir.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he'd  gone  down  to  Bay  Har- 
bor (whatever  he's  after)  :— he  asked  me  if  I  thought  he 
could  do  a  little  trading  with  the  priests,  there.— And 
Cap'n  Nolesworth's  at  Bay  Harbor,  by  this  time." 

"  Well,  then,  we  can't  do  any  more,  now ;  but  Chris- 
tian men  mustn't  forget  to  pray.  If  any  thing  turns  up, 
to-morrow,  please  let  me  know  it." 

The  constable  had  something  more  upon  his  mind,  and 
presently  said,  as  he  rose  to  go  (but  he  said  it  with  hesi- 
tation, as  if  it  were  not  of  his  business)  : — 

"  I  suppose  you  heard  about  this  new  priest  and  the 
widow-lady,  Mrs.  Berry,  sir?  More  than  one  thing  goes 
on  at  once,  in  this  world." 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  Minister  answered. 
"  There's  stories  going  about  the  harbor,  that  they've 
had  meetings,  down  at  some  Roman  Catholic's,— in  Mad 
Cove,  they  say,— and  passed  some  high  words ;  but  it's 
very  likely,  only  peoj)le's  talk.     They  say  one  of  'em 
seems  to  have  some  sort  of  claim  upon  the  other,  or 
they're  relations,  or   something.     Some   says  it's  about 
some  great  fortune ;  that  he's  her  brother,  and  wants  to 
get  all  away  to  give  to  his  Church.     (They  say  he  looks 
like  her.)     I  hears  he  got  into  a  great  passion  and  was 
very  abusive,  and  she  just  as  gentle  as  a  lamb ;  but  I  don't 
believe  that  of  him,  for  Skipper  George  and  everybody 
gives  un  a  good  name  for  being  very  civil-spoken,  and 
kind  in  his  way." 


WHICH   WAY   suspicion   LEADS. 


IK 


"I  don't  believe  it,  either;  but  I  know  that  they're 
related — probably,  nearly.  He  does  look  like  her:  I'd 
forgotten. — Now,  you'll  tell  me,  to-morrow,  if  any  thing 
happens,  please.     Good-night ! " 

The  day's  work  was  done,  and  the  week's ;  but  there 
lay  over  a  heavy  burden  for  the  coming  time  to  bear. 


m  !l 


in 


TUE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE    DAY   FOR   REST. 


1 1    i 


I N  the  next  day,  Sunday,  it  may  well  be  thought 
that  the  church  showed  signs  of  general  sorrow; 
tidings  had  come  from  every  quarter,  and  nothing 
could  be  heard  of  Lucy  Barbury.    Before  the  flag  (which 
had  not,  that  morning,  flung  its  white  cross  abroad  upon 
tne  fresh  air,  but  had  hung  heavily)  was  hauled  down, 
the  httle  parties,  by  land  and  water,  gathered,  anxious 
and  agitated-looking,  instead  of  wearing  the  Day's  peace  • 
and  silently  and  straight  down  the  road,  with  his  broad 
head  bowed,  came  Skipper  George,  without  his  wife,  and 
escorted  by  Jesse  Hill  and  Isaac  MafFen  on  the  one  side, 
and  Mr.  Skilton  (the  second  smith)  on  the  other.     Sev- 
eral women,  of  his  family  and  neighbors,  followed  him  in 
silence.     As  the  brave  man  came  to  the  point  at  which 
he  was  to  turn  up  from  the  road  to  the  church-door,  he 
gave  one  glance  over  to  the  sea,  and  one  over  the  land  • 
then,  as  if  forgetting  himself,  took  off  his  hat  in  the  open 
air.     At  the  instant,  every  man's  head  was  silently  un- 
covered, and  every  woman  dropped  a  silent  courtesy. 

It  had  been  customary  to  chant  the  Canticles  and 
Doxology,  as  well  as  to  sing  the  Metre-psalms  and 
Hymns ;  but  this  day,  the  chief  bass  (Skipper  Charlie) 
was  not  in  his  place.    Mr.  Piper  s  vi«lin,-which,  for  love 


THE   DAY   FOR  REST. 


153 


of  the  owner,  a  good-natured  Irishman,  was  allowed  to 
set  the  pitch  and  go  with  the  voices,— did  not  appear; 
and  (what  was  the  great  want)  there  was  no  heart  for 
singing.     Even    the   Clerk,   Mr.   Williamson,   trying   to 
lead,  broke  down.     The   answering  of  the  people  "was 
more  full  than  usual ;  and  when  the  priest,  at  the  peti- 
tion "to  succor,  help,  and  comfort  all  that  are  in  danger, 
necessity,   and   tribulation,"   added,   "especially   George 
Barbury,  our  brother,  and  his  family,"  thus  binding  their 
special  sorrow  to  the  prayer  of  millions,  and  of  ages,  the 
great  voice  of  the  congregation  trembled ;  and  again,  at 
the  next  petition,  for  them  that  trav.'l  by  sea  or  land, 
there  was  a  general  feeli-g,  as  if  a  wind  from  the  deep 
Bay  or  dreary  Barrens  had  blown  in.    So  morns  went  by 
at  church,  sadly.    The  Minister  preached,  out  of  his  heart, 
about  the  Lord's  having  all  in  his  hand. 

After  the  forenoon  service,  Jesse  edged  himself  up  to 
the  Minister,  and  said  : — 

"  'Ee  could  n'  'ave  e'er  a  funeral  sarvice,  could  'ee,  sir, 
for  Uncle  George,  to  comfort  un  up,  a  bit  ?  "  ' 

Gilpin  was  near  enough  to  hear,  (indeed,  good  Jesse 
looked  aside  to  him,  during  the  saying  of  it,  for  his  suf- 
frage,) and  the  eye  of  the  constable  twinkled ;  but  he  did 
not  smile  at  the  honest  fellow's  mistake. 

"  Please  God,  we  may  find  her  ahve  yet,  Jesse,"  said 
he. 

"I  wish  we  mought,  indeed,  Mr.  Gulpin,"  returned  the 
fisherman ;  «  but  I  don't  think  it." 

Isaac  Maffen  shook  his  head,  in  melancholy  confirma- 
tion. 

«  You  won't  forget  Mrs.  Barrfe,"  said  Miss  Dare,  to  the 
Minister,  when  she  had  opportunity. 

GUpin  followed  the  magistrate,  Mr.  Naughton ;  and, 


n 


1.U 


THK  NEW   PRIEST. 


having  come  to  speech  with  him,  began  to  lay  \m  case 
Ixifore  him. 

"  It  '11  be  cleared  up,  Charles,"  said  the  magistrate,  sen- 
tentiously,  by  the  time  they  got  to  the  solid  part  of  it. 

"  Not  without  taking  the  law  to  it,  I'm  thinking,  sir," 
said  Gilpin. 

"  You  couldn't  do  any  thing  about  it  on  Sunday,"  an- 
swered the  stipendiary. 

"If  isn't  a  civil  prossess,  you  know,  air;  it's  criminal." 

"  That  depends  upon  what  it's  called,"  said  the  magis- 
trate ;  "  but  I'm  obliged  to  go  away,  as  soon  as  possible, 
out  of  the  harbor.  If  there's  any  thing  to  be  done,  I'll 
attend  to  it  when  I  come  back.     I  shall  act  deliberately." 

So  saying,  the  Stipendiary  hurried  through  his  own 
gate. 

Gilpin  looked  after  him,  a  moment,  with  a  curious  twist 
on  his  lips ;  then,  nodding  his  head,  as  if  he  knew  of 
another  way,  went  up  the  harbor.  Mr.  Naughton's  house 
was  apart  from  the  road,  and  near  the  cliff  on  which  the 
flagstaff  stood. 

The  constable  passed  the  drung  *  that  led  up  to  his 
forge  and  dwelling,  and  keeping  on,  to  Mr.  Werner's, 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  asked  for  Miss  Dare. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  scratched  bis  head  with  his 
forefinger,  in  the  presence  of  the  young  lady ;  and  then, 
having  obtained  leave  to  speak  with  her  a  moment,  on 
important  business,  he  changed  her  astonishment  into 
extreme  agitation,  by  saying,  «I'^e  come  about  Skipper 
George's  daughter,  please.  Miss  Dare." 

"What  of  her?— Is  she  found?— Is  any  thing  heard 
of  her?"  vshe  cried,  turning  paler  than  ever,  but  keeping 
command  of  herself. 

*  Narrow  way:  Old  English  from  the  same  source  as  throng. 


THE   DAX  FOU  RKST. 


155- 


« Not  exactly,  Miss ;  but  there's  somd  track  of  her, 
I  believe.  I  think  there's  some  living,  and  no  great 
ways  off,  that  could  tell  about  her,  if  they  were  made 
to." 

"  Well,  I  know  you've  got  plenty  of  lione.st  hearts  and 
hands  to  help  you :  but  if  money  is  needed,  or  will  do 
any  thing,  don't  spare  it.  It  won't  be  wanting : — and  do 
follow  out  the  least  thing,  won't  you  ?  I  wish  I  could  do 
something  more  about  it." 

"  I'll  try  and  do  my  part,  with  a  heart  and  a  half,"  said 
the  constable  ;  "  and  there  is  something.  Miss,  if  you'll 
excuse  me  for  thinking  of  it; — it's  a  little  uncommon, 
I  know.  If  you'd  only  just  please  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Naughton,  and  get  un  to  do  something." 

"  But  I'm  not  the  person,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Naughton  about  his  duty." 

"  It  looks  strange,  I  know,"  answered  the  constable  ; 
"  but  Mr.  Naughton  isn't  like  everybody.  I've  been  to 
un  about  it,  and  I  couldn't  do  any  thing  v/ith  un.  '  He 
hadn't  time  •  he  was  called  away.'  I  knows  un.  He'll 
be  out  o'  the  harbor  in  half  an  hour." 

"  But  the  Minister  would  be  the  proper  person  to  speak 
to  him." 

"  It's  a  busy  day  with  his  reverence,"  said  Gilpin  ; 
"  and  besides,  Miss,  there's  no  time  to  lose ;  he'll  be  along, 
directly." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  try  to  do  ?  " 

"To  get  him  to  take  up  some  parties  that  are  sus- 
pected, please,  Miss  Dare." 

"  What !  not  of  murdering  her  !  " 

"  No,  Miss ;  I  don't  know  what's  been  done  to  her." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  think  about  it,  till  we  know 
something  more ;  but  if  I  can  do  any  thing,  I'm  sure  I 


■i 


c.iUi.^ 


!  I 


inrH    ffiirmttiim 


156 


THE   NEW   PR[ESr. 


will,  with  all  my  heart,  as  you  say.     Certainly  I'll  speak 
to  Mr.  Naughton,  if  that's  the  case." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  ;  and  I'll  go  out  the  back  way,  if 
you  please  ;  he  mustn't  know  that  I  was  here." 

After  the  constable's  departure.  Miss  Dare  stationed 
herself  near  the  garden  fence  by  the  road,  and  presently 
the  solid,  flat  horse-tramp,  which  brings  to  the  mind  in- 
stinctively the  image  of  a  man  rising  and  falling  in  the 
saddle,  on  a  very  hard  and  slow-going  beast,  came  to  her 
ear.    After  a  time,  the  horse  and  his  rider  made  their  ap- 
pearance, the  latter  seeming  to  be  getting  on  faster  than 
the  former,  except  that   he  never   got   over   his   head. 
Which  saw  Miss  Dare  first,  (for,  though  there  was  some 
shrubbery,  there  were  no  trees  of  any  consequence  on 
Mr.  Worner's  premises,)  cannot  be  said ;  the  effects  on 
each  were  simultaneous.     Mr.  Naughton  did  not  let  it 
appear  that  he  was  conscious  of  her  presence,  unless  in- 
voluntarily, by  coloring  and  looking  more  deliberately  to 
each  side  of  the  road  than  usual,  and  by  unu  jual  atten- 
tion (between  whilet.)  ^'^  his  steed.      It  seemed  to  him 
proper  to  go  over  that  part  of  the  road  (which  was  level, 
with  the  fence  on  one  side  and  storehouses  on  the  other) 
with  a  sidling,  curveting,  prancing,  and  other  ornamental 
horsemanship ;  and  he  sat  up  for  it  and  reined  in  for  it. 
Meantime  the  horse  (men  called  him,  familiarly,  <'  Donk," 
from  a  certain  sparsene-s  of  hair  upon  his  tail)  was  will- 
ing to  sidle, — made  one  duck  with  his  head  towards  the 
curveting,  (and,  in  so  doing,  got  the   bit   between   his 
teeth,)  but  wished  to  dispense  with  the  prancing,  as  a 
vain  and  superfluous  performance.     His  notion  seemed 
to  be  that  the  sidle  might  be  made  useful  as  well  as  orna- 
mental, and  might  bring  them  up  to  the  fence  where  the 
young  lady  stood;  and  thta  he  could  nibblt  the  grass,  or 


THE   DAY   FOR  REST. 


Ifi7 


shut  his  eyes  and  meditate,  while  the  two  human  beings 
amused  themselves  with  conversation. 

The  beast  micceedcd:  Mr.  Naughton  put  the  best  grace 
upon  it  that  he  could,  and  sat  up  on  his  steed,  a  short 
man,  with  small  eyes  and  large  whiskers. 

Miss  Dare's  address  to  the  magisti-ate  gave  no  evidence 
of  her  having  seen  any  thing  ridiculous  in  his  pi  ogress. 

"  You're  not  going  away  just  now,  of  all  times,  Mr. 
Naughton,  surely,"  said  she,  "  when  you're  the  only  mag- 
istrate ?  " 

"Am  I  to  flatter  myself,  then,  that  my  going  or  stay- 
ing is  of  any  consequence  to  Miss  Dare  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  and  to  every  body  in  the  place." 

"I  knew  a  magistrate  was  of  some  little  consequence 
to  the  state  and  to  the  community,"  returned  he. 

"  There  can  be  only  one  feeling  in  the  community,"  said 
the  young  lady,  as  Mr.  Naughton  drew  suddenly  up  the 
rein,  to  resume  his  progress. 

Animation  seemed  to  be  diffused  through  the  body  of 
the  quiescent  Donk  by  electricity,  (though  not  so  fast  as 
lightning,)  for  the  memorable  tail  went  up  by  a  jerk,  like 
that  of  the  more  intelligent  member,  to  which  the  bridle 
was  attached,  though  with  a  slight  interval.  Mr.  Naugh- 
ton, this  time,  attempted  no  caracoling  or  oapricoling,  but 
studied  to  combine  the  several  wills  of  man  and  beast  on 
one  continuous  (and  pretty  rapid)  motion.  If  he  did  not 
at  once  nor  entirely  succeed,  even  with  frequent  sharp 
spurring.  Miss  Dare  was  not  there  to  see. 

At  Evensong,  the  magistrate  was  in  his  place  at 
church;  half  an  hour  afterward,  having  briefly  listened 
to  Charles  Gilpin,  he  issued  the  decided  order : — 

"You'll  bring  those  parties  before  me  by  ten  o'clock 
to-morrow  morninij:." 


.*  I      11 


158 


THE  NRW   PRIEST. 


"I  shall  want  a  warrant,  you  know,  sir,"  said  Gilpin. 

Whether  the  stipendiary  had  forgotten,  or  wished  to 
consult  his  "  Justices' Assistant,"  he  maintained  his  dig- 
nity, and,  at  the  same  time,  the  symmetry  of  his  arrange- 
ments. 

"You'll  call  fop  that  at  ten  o'clock  this  evening," 
said  he. 


SUSPECTED  PERSONS. 


1A9 


CHAPTEli  XIX. 


SUSPECTED    PERSONS. 

)E  pass  to  the  next  day,  the  vane  of  suspicion 
having,  within   twenty-four  hours,  (though  no 
man  could  say  that  any  wind  had  been  blowing) 
got  round,  and  pointed  straight  to  Mr.  Urston's  house. 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon,  young  Urston  had  been  at 
church,  and,  after  service,  Skipper  George  had  called  the 
young  man  to  himself,  and  walked  with  him  quite  over  to 
the  Backside.  He  was  not  suspected;  but  rumors  had 
got  about  that  three  females  went  away  in  the  punt,  in 
which  only  two  had  come. 

On  this  Monday  morning,  that  sound  so  interesting  to 
boys  and  men,  of  hammer  ringing  upon  anvil  was  not 
heard  at   Skipper  Charlie's  smithy;  nor  that  other,  of 
blended  human  voices,  telling,  asking,  speculating  upon 
the  news  or  gossip  of  the  place  ;  for  here,  where  are  no 
barbers  shops  or  coffee-houses,  every  thing  that  is  to  be 
told  and  heard  is  brought  to  the  smith's  forge,  and,  be- 
ing heated  hot,  is  laid  upon  the  anvil,  pounded,  turned, 
and  pounded  into  a  final  shape.      The   smith  and  con- 
stable himself,— whose  manifold  name  of  Gilpin,  Galpin, 
Gulpin,  might  remind  one  of  the  derivation,  Nipkin— 
napkin— diaper— draper— TAILOR,  or   the  more   classic 
aA(o;r^|-^;§_pax-pujr-f UCi|B-FOX-was,-  at  about 
eight  o'clock,  walking  quickly,  with  several  companions, 


'if  ■ 


'1 


1^ 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


^1  t. 


l¥ 


n  I 


'.  I 


along  a  patli  that  led  from  near  his  house  downward  on 
the  Backside.  With  him  were  William  Frank,  commonly 
called  Billy  Bow,  Zebedee  Marchant,  Natlian  Marchant, 
Jesse  Hill,  and  Isaiic  Maffen,  who  had  severally  (except 
the  last  two)  fallen  in  behind  him  at  different  points, 
like  the  involuntary  followers  in  some  of  the   German 

BCnt(et=inatc!jciu 

"  Can  'ee  walk  in  ef  the  door  shouldn'  be  open,  Skip- 
per Charlie  ? "  asked  Billy  Bow,  who  was  considered  a 
great  humorist  by  his  neighbors. 

"  It'll  go  hard  if  I  can't  get  into  e'er  a  house  that's  got 

door  or  window,  open  or  shut,"  answered  the  constable. 

'*  'E's  got  to  keep  the  king's  peace,"  said  Billy  Bow ; 
"  an'  I'm  afeared  'e'll  get  it  broke  into  a  good  many  pieces." 

"  Ef  the  constable  kicks  up  e'er  a  rout,  boys,"  said  one 
of  the  others,  "  'e've  got  a  good  many  craft  in  tow,  that 
can  keep  un  from  hurting  'isself." 

"  It  would'n'  be  good  subjecks,  an'  show  respec'  to  the 
king,  ef  we  didn'  favor  'e's  constables,  after  'e's  abin  and 
tookt  the  trouble  to  appoint  'em,  an'  'e's  trusty  an'  well- 
beloving  yeoman,  Mr.  Charles  Gulpin,  petic'lar ;  we  mus' 
give  'em  a  chance  to  do  their  dooty,  'ee  knows.  Skipper 
Charlie,"  said  another  of  the  posse  comitatus. 

"  Let  me  ketch  ye  givin'  me  a  chance,  (without  there's 
good  rause  for  it,)  and  I'll  do  my  dooty  on  you,  very 
quick,"  returned  Skipper  Charlie. 

With  such  simple  attempts  at  wit,  did  the  quiet  and 
good-natured  Newfoundlanders  follow  their  "  officer ; "  and 
v/ith  such  downright  authority  did  the  officer  maintain  the 
dignity  of  the  law  and  the  constabulary.  Other  topics 
also  oCcupied  them  :  Jesse  was  engaged  in  literary  criti- 
cism ;  having  listened  at  the  window  of  the  Wesleyan 
Meeting-house,  at  a  funeral,  and  then  given,  to  a  Wes- 


SUSPECTED   PKIJSONS.  i^ 

Ijanfriend  who  asked  it,  the  opinion  he  was  now  repeat- 

surl'l''"'''   !  "T'  ' ''''''  ''■^  ^^'^'  ^"'  «^  Scnpture, 
sure,  I  says,  'an'  a  little  about  how  we  ought  to  do'  I 

«ays;    'JUS'  like  anybody;  an'  then  varses  an' scraps' o' 

poultry,  an  such;  an'  then  more,  agen,  an'  so  on;  but  'e 

wa.n  a  proper-growed  sarmun,  at  all,'  I  says;  'not  what 

1  calls  proper-growed.'      So  then  he  couldn'  .ay  nothin'  • 
when  I  telled  un  that,  'e  couldn' »  ' 

stahi?""' m''^''  ^''  :^°"'^"'^  ^"«^«^  y^<  said  the  con 

2  1  "     r  '"'  '''''  ^^  ^^^^"  ^^^^^'-(^  ^-'t  -ant 
7^-7  'I  T^,  """"'''  '""^  '^™  back,)-and,  when  ye 

lay  to ;  an'  don't  stir  tack  nor  sheet,  till  I  tells  ye.    They'll 
be  just  about  coming  in  from  the  water." 

So-giving  his  orders,  like  a  good  general,  in  his  peo- 
P^e  s  famdmr  tongue-Gilpin  went  on  with  the  other  half 

ment  with  hke  mstructions.  While  still  a  good  way  off 
he  place,  he  and  his  companions  were  astonished  at  see- 
ng  m  front  of  them  going  fast  in  the  same  direction,  the 

^11,  strong  figure  of  the  bereaved  father.     As  Ski  >per 

George  went  u.o  the  house,  they  kept  dose  to  him.  '  ' 
Id  best  call  himself,"  said  Mrs.  Calloran;  "he's  iust 

at  the  Worrell,  beyont."  ^ 

"Ay!  call  un,  please,"  said  the  constable;  addin..  as 
she  passed  out  of  hearing,  «but,  if  anybody  knows^y 
thing,  you're  the  one,  I'm  thinking."  ^ 

The  father,  while    they  waited,  stood   with   his   face 
against. his  hand  upon  the  wall;  his  grizzled  locks  looking 
so  innocent  and  touching,  that,  as  William  Frank  said 
afterwards,  "a  body  could  sca'ce  look  at  un  wi'  dry  eye 
It  was  so  feelun,  like."  "/eyes, 

VOL.  I.  11 


162 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


Mr.  Urston  came  in  very  frankly,  showing  no  surprise 
at  the  number  of  persons  present,  and  answered,  before 
he  was  asked  the  question,  "  that  he  did  not  know  where 
Mr.  Barbury's  daughter  was;  he  wished  he  did;  he 
wouldn't  keep  it  to  himself  long." 

Skipper  George,  who  had  turned  round  at  the  sound 
of  footsteps,  sank  heavily  down  into  a  chair.  It  was 
evident,  from  the  effect  of  these  words  upon  his  feelings, 
that,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  had  not  only  feared  but  hoped 
something  from  this  visit,  and  that  the  hope  was  now 
smitten  within  him. 

"  Look  to  un,  some  of  ye ! "  cried  Gilpin.  «  Handle 
un  gently." 

"N'y  lovies,"  said  Skipper  George,  catching  his 
breath,  as  if  he  had  been  through  a  severe  struggle  in  the 
waves,  "  thankee  !  Whatever  was  o'  George  Barbury,— 
thank  God !  thank  God ! — it  bides  here  yet ;  on'y  two 
tarrible  heavy  blows  on  the  same  place,— that's  lossing 
'er  before,  an'  now,  agen,  lossin'  that  false,  foohsh  hope,— 
have  abrought  rae  down.  I'm  a  poor,  sinful  Christen; 
but  I  am  a  Christen,  an'  I  can  get  up. — I  beheves  'ee. 
Mister  Urston  ;  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  'ee ;  but  'ee  knows 
I've  alossed  my  child!  Some  thinks  'ee'd  want  to  turn 
her  from  her  religion ;  but,  ef  'ee  had  e'er  a  chance,  'ee 
wouldn'  make  a  cruel  trial  of  her  dear,  tender  heart,  nor 
her  faith  in  the  dear  Saviour  she  loved  an'  sarved  sunce 
ever  she  knowed  'E's  blessed  name !     Would  'ee  ?  " 

There  was  something  very  affecting  in  this  speech  and 
the  father's  tears  that  accompanied  it. 

Mr.  Urston  said  that  "  if  ever  he  should  hear  of  her,  or 
find  her,  or  any  trace  of  her,  the  father  should  hear  of  it 
as  soon  as  he  could  get  the  word  to  him  ; "  and  he  said  it 

"  They  were  of  a  different  religion, 


with  much  feelinir. 


per] laps,  but 


SUSPECTKD   PERSONS. 


natun 


1G3 


him 


'■  of  a  difFeren 
from  tlie  bottom  of  his  heart." 

"Her  faith's  nothing  that  can  be  turned  about,"  said 
James  Urston.     « It  would  go  through  fire  unhurt." 

At  this,  Mrs.  Calloran  made  some  remark,  aside  which 
could  not  be  overheard.  Skipper  George  thanked  the 
young  man,  and  rose  to  go,  declining,  kindly,  the  hospit- 
able  mvitations  urged  upon  him. 

"  Go  with  un,  Jesse,"  said  Skipper  Charlie  ;  and  Jesse 
and  bis  adherent  went  out  with  hini. 

"Now,  I've  got  a  bit  of  disagree'ble  dooty  to  perform," 
said  the  constable,  as  he  proceeded  quickly  to  lay  his  hand 
upon  one  after  another  of  those  present,  and  to  arrest 
them. 

"  This  is  my  Warrant,"  said  he.  "  I'm  doing  my  dooty, 
and  111  do  :t  as  civilly  as  I  know  how.  I'm  commanded 
to  Ure  the  bodies  of  Bridget  Calloran,  and  Thomas 
Urston,  and  James,  'before  me,  the  worshipful  Ambrose 
Naughton,  Esquire,  Stipendiary  Magistrate,  &c.  &c. ;  as 
witness  my  hand  and  seal  of  office.' " 

Gilpin's  proceeding  astounded  Mr.  Urston  and  his  son 
and  was  very  exciting  to  all  present;  to  whom  capiases, 
and  warrants,  and  writs,  are  strange  things.  Even  the 
smde  with  which  Gilpin  (who  was  more  familiar  with 
such  things-theoretically,  at  least-)  read  Mr.  Nau^h- 
tons  indirect  assertion  of  his  official  dignity,  did  not  ta\e 
Irom  the  excitement. 

"Sure,  an'  is  this  English  law,  thin,  that  they  brag 
about  ?  Bring  up  their  bodies  to  examine  tbim !  Kill 
thim  first,  an'  try  thim  after!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Calloran. 
Is  this  the  way  it  is  wid  yes?  an'  is  this  Protestant 
justice  ?  Sure,  it's  small  justice  ye  can  do  an  a  corrups  I 
And  do  you  raly  many  to  kill  us,  thin,  ar  what .?  " 


3H         lai 


il 


164 


TFIK   NEW   PRIKST. 


Mrs.  Calloran  was  ready  to  contend  with  her  tongue, 
as  in  the  encounter  of  two  days  before ;  but  a  look  from 
Mr,  Urston, — who  acted  and  spoke  with  a  self-possession 
and  dignity  that  "contrasted  strongly  with  his  surround- 
ings,— put  her  to  silence. 

"  He  could  not  understand  this  most  extraordinary  pro- 
ceeding," he  said,  "  and  knew  no  more  of  '  abducting  or 
carrying  away '  Mr.  Barbury's  daughter,  than  the  father 
did ;  but  would  make  no  resistance  to  a  legal  warrant." 

For  Mr.  Barbury's  sake,  he  begged  that  his  premises 
might  be  thoroughly  searched.  The  constable  complied ; 
but  the  search  found  nothing. 

Mrs.  Calloran's  submission  m  Mr.  Urston's  presence, 
could  not  prevent  her  crying  out  at  this  point, — 

"Will  ye  sind  for  the  praste,  thin?  Sind  for  the 
praste !  There's  Father  Ignashis  is  at  Misther  O'Rourke's 
beyant;  they'll  niver  deny  us  the  sacramints  from  our 
own  clargy !     Will  ye  sind  for  the  praste  ?  " 

"  May  be  we'll  have  to  send  for  them  bimebye,"  said 
Gilpin  aside.  He  then  comforted  Mrs.  Calloran  with  an 
assurance,  "  that  she  should  hang  like  a  Christen,  if  she 
was  found  guilty." 

The  preparations  for  going  were  soon  made  ;  the  con- 
stable assuring  his  prisoners  that,  at  any  rate,  they  could 
come  home  a  bit  after  the  examination,  even  if  the  magis- 
trate should  commit  them.  So  they  set  forth  for  the  wor- 
shipful magistrate's  presence. 

One  after  another  of  Gilpin's  former  escort  made  his 
appearance  by  the  way.  Jesse  Hill,  also,  and  Isaac 
Maffen  reappeared. 

Mr.  Urston  complimented  the  constable  upon  his  gen- 
eralship ;  but  assured  him  that  he  didn't  want  so  much 
help. 


SUSPECTED  PERSONS. 


165 


"  It's  good  to  have  enough  of  a  good  thing,"  said  the 
constable,  glancing  with  his  one  eye  over  his  troops. 
"  William,  you  take  command  o'  these  limbs  o'  the  law, 
will  ye  ?  Keep  about  two  or  three  cables'  length  astern, 
if  ye  know  how  much  that  is ;  or  as  much  more  as  ye 
like." 

So  Billy  Bow  took  charge  of  the  posse,  except  Jesse 
and  Isaac  (who,  with  the  constable,  made  one  for  each 
prisoner).  These  attached  themselves  to  the  immediate 
escort,  and  were  not  meddled  with.  Jesse  and  Isaac 
were  two  important  witnesses. 

Near  the  bush,  from  behind  which  Jesse  had  seen  his 
apparition  come  forth,  the  new  Priest  was  lingering  to 
meet  the  approaching  party.  Jesse,  at  sight  of  him, 
bristled,  a  good  deal  like  a  sturdy  mastiff,  and  Isaac  felt 
contagious  animosity.   Mrs.  Calloran  expressed  herself  by 


tongue. 


"  Don't  look  at  us,  yer  riverence,  Father  Ignatius,"  she 
said,  though  he  could  not  hear  her,  and  could  only  have 
seen  the  zealous  and  eager  courtesy  that  she  dropped, 
afar  off;  "  don't  look  at  the  way  they  treat  us  for  being 
Catholics." 

"You  may  as  well  keep  a  stopper  on  your  tongue, 
while  you're  my  prisoner,"  said  Gilpin,  peremptorily. 
"  I've  heard  a  good  name  of  this  gentleman ;  and  I  don't 
■vant  to  bring  un  into  trouble  for  meddling  with  an  officer 
in  the  execution  of  his  warrant." 

Father  Debree  stood  quite  unmoved  at  the  evidently 
hostile  expression  of  the  escort ;  or,  at  least,  if  not  un- 
moved, his  face  did  not  lose  any  thing  of  its  very  hand- 
som.  openness  and  dignity.  His  marmf  r,  however,  was 
agitated. 

He  saluted  the  prisoners  and  constable,  and  even  Jesse 


166 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


and  Isaac,  who  looked  gruff  and  implacable,  exceedingly, 
and  scarcely  returned  the  salutation.  The  constable, 
though  not  cordial  or  over-courteous,  kept  himself  from 
showing  any  active  dislike.  The  Priest  addressed  him  in 
a  very  prepossessing  voice, — 

"  I  think  you're  the  constable, — Mr.  Gilpin, — are  you 
not?" 

"  I'm  constable,  sir,  for  want  of  a  better,"  said  Skipper 
Charlie  ;  "  and  blacksmith,  too." 

"  May  I  have  a  moment's  conversation  with  you  ?  " 

"  Not  about  my  prisoners  ;  I'm  going  with  'em  to  the 
magistrate's.  You  can  go  along,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said 
Gilpin,  but  falling,  at  the  same  time,  in  the  rear. 

"  You  mistake  me,"  said  the  Priest ;  "  I've  no  wish  to 
interfere  between  you  and  your  prisoners.  If  I  could 
be  of  any  service,  in  a  proper  and  lawful  way,  to  any 
one  whose  friend  I  ought  to  be,  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't 
blame  it ;  but  I  want  to  ask  if  you  have  found  any 
thing  to  throw  a  light  on  Skipper  George's  daughter's 
fate?" 

"  I  hope  Te  shall  find  out  about  it,"  said  the  constable, 
ambiguously. 

"Are  these  prisoners  arrested  on  suspicion  of  being 
connected  with  it  ?  " 

"It'll  appear  on  their  examination,  sir,"  answered 
Gilpin. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  ask  any  improper  question ;  but  I 
know  the  father,  and  I  know  her,  and  I  know  them,  and 
feel  very  much  interested ; — I  ask  as  a  friend." 

Gilpin's  one  sharp  eye  had  been  fixed  on  the  speaker's 
face. 

"  I  don't  think  it  w;\s  Protestants  have  made  way  with 
her,"  said  he,  and,  bov<ring,  moved  his  company  on. 


AN  OFFICIAL   EXAMINATION. 


107 


CHAPTExi  XX. 

AN    OFFICIAL    EXAMINATION   FROM    WHICH   SOMETHING 

APPEABS. 


)HE  magistrate's  house,  to   the  party  now  ap- 
proaching it,  looked  as  a  house  might  look,  which, 
built  in  very  ungainly  style  and  of  no  large  dimen- 
sions, was  dignified  by  its  association  with  the  magistracy, 
and  now  clothed  in  all  the  awfulness  of  an  official  want 
of  animated  life.     Not  much  impression  seemed  to  settle 
upon  «  Mr.  Gulpin,"  or  his  prisoners,  who  walked,  with 
little  apprehension,  up  to  the  front  door ;  unmindful  how 
the  gravel-stones  were  scattered  from  their  heels ;  but  to 
the  valiant  Jesse  and  the  valiant  Isaac  an  awful  figure  of 
spectral  personation  of  Authority  or  Infliction  seemed  to 
possess  the  gate  and  plant  its  shadowy  terrors  directly  in 
ihe  way.     They  drew  off  to  each  side ;  accounting  for 
their  movements  by  the  remark:  «He  don't  want  none 
of  we  yet,  I  don't  suppose,  do  'e  ?  " 

On  the  arrival  of  a  second  squad,  however,  the  first, 
as  if  they  had  received  a  sudden  summons,  anticipated 
the  new-comers  by  a  hasty  movement,  which  brought 
Ihem  to  the  door  in  time  to  make  their  way  into  the 
kitchen  ;  while  their  official  leader  and  his  captives  went, 
under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Naughton's  maid-of-all-work, 
into  the  presence  of  the  magistrate ;  if  presence  it  could 


I 


168 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


bo  called,  where  he  sate  with  his  back  broadly  towards 
them. 

"  Please  your  worshipful,"  said  the  usheress,  «  it's  Mr. 
Gulpin,  sir ;  wi'  some  that  Vve  caressed,  most  like,  sir." 

"Directly!"  answered  the  official  voice;  which  then 
proceeded  to  read  in  a  low  tone,  and  hastily,  out  of  souk; 
book  before  him,  "  '  both  houses  of  parliament,  and  '—I 
must  look  at  that  again ;  seven  hundred  and  twenty- 
seventh  page." 

Meanwhile,  the  constable  leaving  his  charge,  for  a  mo- 
ment, standing  at  the  stipendiary's  back,  went  out  long 
enough  to  give  a  message,  of  which  the  last  words  were 
heard,  as  he  enforced  them  : — 

— "  And  mind  ye,  Jesse,  bring  un  along  :  d  i't  come 
without  un  ;  and  come  back  as  quick  as  you  can." 

The  ermine,  or  other  fur  of  the  magistrate,  set  itself 
up  at  this,  and  he  intimated  to  his  subordinate  that '  order 
and  silence  were  necessary  at  that  investigation.' — With 
a  large  dignity,  he  invited  the  Minister,  vho  was  entering, 
to  a  seat. 

Having,  at  length,  received  the  constable's  i-eturn,  he 
proceeded  to  business  by  ordei-ing  that  officer  to  swear 
the  prisoners  at  the  bar.  Gilpin  looked,  with  twinkling 
eye,  at  his  prisoners,  and  then  at  the  magistrate  : — 
"  What'll  I  swear  'em  to,  Mr.  Naughton  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  There's  a  copy  of  the  Holy  Evangelists  here,"  said 
the  st^fcndiary. 

"I  can  find  Bibles  fast  enough,  sir:  but  they're  not 
witnesses." 

"I  may  ask  them  some  questions  and  desire  their  an- 
swers to  be  under  the  solemn  sanction  of  an  oath,''  an- 
swered the  magistrate;  but  when  Mr.  Ur?ton  had  the 
Sacred  Volume  held  out  to  him,  he  decidedly  objected  ; 


AN  OFFICIAL  EXAMINATION.  169 

insisting  that  if  he  and  the  others  were  there  as  prison- 
ers, they  were  not  there  as  witnesses;  and  desiring  that 
the^accusation  might  be  read,  and  the  witnesses  exam- 

The  magistrate  assured  him,  with  dignity,  that  that  was 
not  he  regular  order  of  judicial  proceedings,  but  that  he 
would  waive  the  point. 

Having  in  his  own  way,  made  the  prisoners  acquainted 
with  the  charge,  he  said,  «  There  must  be  a  record  of  the 
proceedmgs  of  this  court !  Mr.  Williamson,  you  will  act 
as  clerk.  Constable,  qualify  Mr.  Williamson,  and  sum- 
rnon  the  witnesses." 

„:n  p,  TT^^'  ^"^^"°  q"«l'fi«<J  the  clerk,  called  "Jesse 
Hi  .  but  there  was  no  answer ;  and  he  called  Jesse 
ilill  again,  and  again  with  no  answer. 

'|I  sent  him  after  Mr.  Banks,"  explained  Gilpin. 
Sending  one  witness  after  another  is  quite  irregular; 
I  trust  that  it  will  not  occur  again.     It  will  be  mj  duty 
to  suspend  the  proceedings  until  you  can  produce  Mr. 
Hill,  or  Barbury." 

At  this  moment,  Mr.  Naughton  noticed  Father  Debree 
near  the  door,  attended  by  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  a  low 
buzzing  of  the  waiting  public.  The  magistrate  with 
dignity  mvited  him  to  a  seat,  but  the  Priest  preferred 
standing.  Mr.  Wellon  attempted  conversation  with  his 
n«w  neighbor,  but  found  him  this  day  so  reserved  or 
preoccupied  as  to  give  little  encouragement  to  the  at- 
tempt. 

Mr.  Wellon,  during  the  absence  of  the  Constable  was 
entertained   by  the   stipendiary  with   an   argument  for 
having  a  "  lychnoscope  "  introduced,  us  a  sacred  accessory 
into  the  new  chancel  of  the  church  ;  the  earnest  advocate 
tor  ecclesiological  development  claiming  that  the  thing 


iff'*'-'' 


170 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


5  :.! 


•  ftp  80  old  that  its  very  object  and  purpose  were  entirely 
unknown. 

Gilpin,  as  he  returned,  with  Jesse  (and  Isaac)  behind 
him,  said,  in  an  under  voice,  "  I  told  un  not  to  come  with- 
out Mr.  Banks ;  an'  so  he  stuck  to  hi«  orders.  I  found 
un  siriiug  on  one  rock  and  Isaac  Maffen  on  another, 
neither  one  of  'em  sayin'  a  word." 

The  Stipendiary  now  crowned  his  brow  with  the  awful 
rigors  of  justice  once  more,  and  sat  as  the  chief  figure  of 
the  scene.  The  witness,  having  been  sworn,  was  ques- 
tioned : — 

*'  Mr.  Barbury,  proceed.     Are  you  u  witness  ?  " 
"Is,  sir,  ef  it's  wantun,  I'll  tell  what  I  knows." 
The  noise  of  heavy  shoes  on  the  feet  of  those  of  the 
public  furthest  back  in  the  entry,  testified  to  the  unabated 
interest  with  which  Jesse's  story  was  expected.. 
"  What's  your  name  ?  is  the  first  question." 
Jesse  was  redder  than  usual ;  but  he  saw  his  way,  and 
gladly  opened  his  mouth. 

"Oh!  'ee  wants  it  tl.at  w'y,  do  'ee,  sir?  'N  or  M' 
is  what  it  says." 

"  Ha !  you're  not  much  acquainted  with  legal  proceed- 
ings," said  the  magistrate,  throwing  a  sentence  loaded 
with  about  the  usual  amount  of  official  wit,  of  about  the 
usual  quality,  and  glancing  at  the  Minister  to  see  if  he 
took  the  joke. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  that's  all,"  said  he  again,  to  the 
simple-minded  testifier. 

"Jesse  Barbury's  my  name,  sir.  1  sposed  'ee  knowed 
that,  sir ! " 

"  The  Law  knows  nothing,  Mr.  Barbury.  Our  infor- 
mation is  from  the  evidence.  You  will  proceed  with  your 
story,  Mr.  Barbury." 


ii 


AN  OFFICIAL  EXAMINATION. 


«..»»        .^    g'^cting  to  listen,  and  studiof  Iv,  with  much 

ami  H,k  Maffen  was  .long  „r  I ;  „„d  j  j„  „     .         ; 

1  saj;s,  -ee  t„„„s  Will,™  Tome.,'  I  aayV«,Pely-    'I, 

<I;d  ee  hear,  „„„,  ,,,„.  V  'vo  atesed  'o's  cow  i  •  i  ll^f' 

The  magistrate  offlcially  cleurpcl  hi,  .l,„..,     <• 
-Uation,  the  Minister  wip'ed  hi:  L  Ci ^      .Ir 

etc  IZT""'"  """  '"""'"''  '«  ""-  »"  »--S 
enect  upon  the  wuncss.     He  went  on  •_  * 

Wuh  that  e  up  an'  says  to  I,  'A  loss  is  a  loss  Jesse -1 
says.    '  That's  true,'  I  says."  '        ''   * 

ITbis  moral  reflection  brought  the  Minister's  handker 
ohtef  suddenly  to  his  face  again.  The  constable  re  eTved 
the  sayng  with  less  self-control,  though  it  was  as  tit! 

z  zz:i "'  ^'■"°''""'"-  ^""-  F-r:: 

tZ;  V  '  T"'"""^--  "  WuU,  wisdom  is  a  great 
thmg ;  It  s  no  use  !  "-Jesse  continued.  ^ 

now'  lt;7„T  '"  ""•,""'!"'  ' ''""'  ^  "^y^' ' "»  '««  'tink, 
Is!;  wl  ."  '"""'''  ""  """'"ali'tlefurderePup?' 
i  say,.     With  that  we  takes  an'  row,  up  tow'rds  Eivel 

says"l!!  "  "'"'  "'  '"«  "'S""  '«'  -onh.    I 

« You  must  remember,  Mr.  Barbury,"  internosed  ,b. 
Stipendiary,  "that  the  time  of  a  m.Js  rate  i7va  u  1 , 
nouo^speak  of  the  time  of  the  otheX^:.;;:;::;''^ 
Be  e,now,s,r."  *aid  the  poor  lollow,  getting  abashed, 


172 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"  so  'e  must  be,  surely  ;  that's  a  clear  case.  That's  a'most 
all  I've  agot  to  s'y,  sir." 

"  IJcgin  just  where  you're  going  to  knock  off,  Jesse," 
BUfffft'sted  the  constable. 

"  Wull,  Mr.  Gilpin,  I  were  goun  to  tell  about  what  I 

81(1  myself." 

"That's  the  very  thing,"  said  Mr.  Naughton ;  "no 
matter  what  you  said,  or  what  was  said  to  you,  you  know." 

With  these  directions,  the  witness  paused  a  little,  hand- 
ling his  sou'wester  (hat). 

"  Whereabouts  was  we,  Izik  ?  "  he  asked  of  his  adju- 
tant. 

"  'Ee  was  talkun  about  the  cow,  Jesse,  'ee  was,"  an- 
swered Isaac,  anxious   that  Jesse  should  do  justice  to 

himstdf. 

"  Wull,  sir."  Then  the  straightforward  witness  for  the 
Crown  began  :    "  I  was  jest  a  sayin  to  Izik,  I  was  " 

"  Your  observations  and  those  of  your  companion  (or 
friend)  are  of  comparatively  little  consequence,  Mr. 
Barbury,"  said  the  magistrate,  who  must  have  had  a 
standard  for  estimating  speech. 

"  He  means,  he  doesn't  care  what  you  and  Isaac  said," 
the  constable  prompted. 

"  'Is,  sir,  surely.     Wull,  Izik  says  to  I " 

"Never  mind  the  sayins,  you  know,"  persisted  the  con- 
stable. 

The  witness  looked  like  some  animal  in  an  inclosure ; 
but  he  did  hit  upon  the  opening  in  it. 

"  Wull,  sir,  I  sid  a  some'at  all  in  white  clothes  a  comin' 
down  Backside-w'y,  (an'  Izik  Maffen,  'e  sid  the  same,  so 
well ;)  like  a  woman  or  a  mayd,  like,  an'  it  corned  right 
along  tull  it  goed  right  aw'y,  like,  I  dono  how.  I  never 
sid  no  more  of  it." 


ii, 


AN   OFFICIAL  EXAMINATION.  jyg 

"  Did  you  atop  to  l(x)k  ?  " 

"Ih,  .ir,  suvvly  ;  I  nays  to  Izik,  '  Izik,'  I  says,  as  soon 
as  ever  I  rould  .speak.-for  T  was  d.imb-foundered  entirely, 
.     first  goun  off,-'  hAk;  I  says,  '  Did  'ee  ever  see  'e'er  a 
angel,  Izik  ?  '     'No,  sure,  Jcsse,'  he  says,  '  how  should 
1 ."       '  Wull   then,'  I  says,   ♦  that  was  a  some'at  looked 
very  like   one,  seemunly,   to   my   thinkin,'  I   say.    'O 
Lordy  ! '  he  says-that's  his  way,  you  know,  sir,-'  what 
ave  abecomed  of  'un  ?  Jesse,'  he  says.     '  Mubbe'  I  says 
♦  It  was  a  goun  somewhere,  tull  it  sid  we ;  an'  now  it's' 
adone  a  doun  of  it,  for  a  notion  its  ahad  I  says ;  sartainly 
we  tookt  swiles,  of  a  Sunday,  last  spring,'  I  says.    '  Hows- 
ever,'  I  says,  '  mubbe  we'd  best  knock  off  now,'  an'  so  we 
done,  sir,  an'  corned  right  home,  sir,  round  the  land-head. 
Ihats  all  the  witness  I  knows." 

"You  may  retire,  Mr.   Barbury;    (unless  any  of  the 
prisoners  at  the  bar  desire  to  question  you.") 
This  privilege  the  prisoners  did  not  claim. 
There  was  a  monstrous  discharge  of  pent-up  breaths  at 
the  conclusion   of  this   evidence,  showing   that   a  good 
many  of  Jesse's  friends  were  in  the  passage  communicat- 
mg  between   the  kitchen  and  the  parlor,  who  felt  that 
Jesse  had   more  than  satisfied  the   highest  expecta.ions 
that  could  have  been  formed  about  his  testimony,  and  had 
contributfed  to  the  fund  of  information  which  the  magis- 
trate was  gathoiring,  as  wonderful  an  ingredient  as  Tny 
that  was  likely  to  be  produced  that  day.     To  his  friends 
a.s  he  modestly  withdrew  from  the  blaze  of  importance,' 
he  gave  the  information  for  the  Imndredth  time,  perhaps, 
that  It  was  Friday  evening  that  this  occurred ;  that  he 
did  not  hail  the  apparition  ;  that  it  did  not  come  within 
hail;  that  -  he  shouldn't  have  a  know'd  what  to  say  to 
it,  ef  he'd  awanted  to." 


174 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


I  ^ 


"  No  more  'ee  would'n ;  that's  a  sure  case,"  said  Isaac 
Maffen. 

"  Any  evidence  as  to  the  credibility  of  Mr.  Barbury 
and  his  friend,  will  now  be  admissible,"  said  the  magis- 
trate, with  dignity  tempered  by  condescension. 

"  Haw !  H — "  burst  from  the  constable,  very  un- 
timely ;  a  laugh  cut  off  in  the  middle. 

Mr.  Wellon,  at  this  point  withdrew. 

"  Call  the  next  witness  !  "  said  the  magistrate,  waiving 
further  interruption. 

"  I  ono  how  to  call  un,  exactly;  I  believe  his  name  is 
Nahthan ;  but  he's  got  an  '  L,'  stuck  before  it,  1  thinks, 
from  the  way  he  spoke  it." 

" .  L.  Nathan  Banks  !  L.  Nathan  Banks ! "  Gilpin 

called,  making  his  comment  also..  "  Well,  if  that  isn't  a 
way  of  writing  a  name !  I've  sid  L's  and  D's  stuck  at 
the  end,  but  sticking  'em  at  the  beginning  's  noos  to 
me." 

Our  readers  have  seen  the  world  some  days  farther  on 
than  Gilpin  had,  and  are  familiar  enough  with  a  fashion 
of  which  Mr.  Bangs,  whose  name  happened  to  be  El- 
nathan,  was  quite  innocent. 

Mr.  Bangs  did  not  appear.  "  I  thought  surely  he'd  turn 
up,  as  he  did  t'other  night,"  said  Gilpin.  "  I  didn't  tell 
un  he'd  be  summonsed ;  but  he's  got  a  sharp  nose." 

"  I  understood  that  Mr.  Wellon  could  testify,"  said  the 
stipendiary. 

"  Ay ;  but  without  Mr.  Banks  you  can't  weld  the 
evidence  together,  sir.'" 

"  You'd  best  summon  him ;  and  that  point  can  be  de- 
termined." 

'■  'E's  just  out  in  Tom  Fielden's  house,"  timidly  sug- 
gested Nathan,  or  Zebedee,  or  some  one  of  them,  not 


i 


'^  O 


AN  OFFICIAL  EXAMINATION. 


175 


thinking  his 


ynkmg  his  voice  fit  to  intrude  in  so  awful  a  presence. 

tj  went  there,  however,  a  bit  sunce." 

"Present  my  compliments  to  him  then,  please,  one  of 

you  ;  'compliments  of  his  worship,  the  Stipendiary  Ma-is- 

trate,  to  the   Reverend   Mr.   Wellon,'  an.i   ask    if   h'e'll 

plea  (J  t(,  st(..|,  ),;„•(:  tor  u  few  moment.-." 

The  "  one  "  who  undertook  this  enand  must  have  had 
an  unu.nal  number  of  feet,  or  of  shoes  upon  his  feet,  if 
one  judged  by  the  multitudinous  clatter  that  followed. 

The  Minister,  on  coming  in  again,  gave  his  short 
account  of  finding  the  little  cap  at  the  Worrell;  and  that 
was  all.     Tlie  stipendiary  spoke  :— 

"  Ttie  evidence  just  received  may  go  towards  estabhsh- 
mg  the   nature  of  the  crime    by  which  Mr.  Barbury's 
daughter  has  been  assailed ;  but,  in  my  judgment,  it  would 
be  rnsu  hcient  to  fix  the  guilt  with  unerring  certainty  upon 
any  n.d.v.dual.  - 1  shall  now  adjourn  the  court."      As 
for    bail,    he    would    say    fifty    pounds    each,   for    Mr 
Urston  and  his  son  ;   and  would  consider  them  respon- 
sible  for  the  appearance  of  Mrs.   Calloran.     "The   day 
to  which  he  had  adjourned  the  court,"  he  Paid,  "  would 
be    appreciated   by    the    persons   chiefly   interested  •    it 
was  the  fift.h  from  that  of  the  Exaltation  of  the    Holy 
Cross,   and  following  that  of  St.  Lambert,  Bishop  and 
Martyr.     In  consideration  of  the   result  of   the  patient 
and    deliberate   investigation    which    had    afforded    him 
peculiar   gratification,  he  would    hir  self  be  responsible 
for  the  usual  costs." 

The  ]\rinister  offered  himself  as  surety,  and  was  at 
once  accepted. 

Gilpin,  on  getting  into  the  open  air,  as  he  did  very 
speedily,  surrounded  by  the  open-mouthed  and  ea-er 
public,  did  not  prevent  himself  from  exclaiming,  (while 


' '  '^B 


I  i'; 


176 


THE  NEW   PHIKST. 


he  looked  flushed  and  chagrined,)  "  Well,  if  that  isn't 
law,  with  a  tail  to  un!" 

An  irreverent  voice  from  among  the  public  (strongly 
resembling  Billy  Bow's)  asserted  that  "  The  King  (ef 
'twas  the  king  'isself  that  doned  it)  might  as  well  take  a 
squid  or  a  torn-cod  for  a  m.-igistrate,  as  some  'e'd  amade," 
and  then  proposed  "thn^e  cheers  for  Mr.  Charles  Gulpin, 
Constable  of  his  majesty  in  this  harbor  and  the  neighbor- 
ing parts." 

The  cheei-s  were  begun  lustily,  though  at  Gilpin's  men- 
tion of  Skipper  G(*orge's  loss,  they  broke  .off,  and  just  as 
they  were  dying  away,  the  door  of  the  Magistrate's  house 
opened,  and  he  appeared,  looking  from  side  to  side,  and 
with  a  modesty  that  sate  gracefully  upon  dignity  and 
authority,  said  that  "  Words  would  fail  him  to  express  his 
sense  of  the  generous  confidence  of  the  people  of  New- 
foundland ;  that  he  was  glad  that  his  humble  efforts  had 
met  the  applause  of  his  fellow-subjects,  which  was  next 
to  the  award  of  an  approving  conscience.  He  looked 
with  confidence  to  the  approval  of  his  sovereign.  In 
conclusion,  he  begged  all  present  to  partake  of  a  little 
coffee,  which  he  had  given  orders  to  have  prepared." 

"Three  cheers  for  'e's  woshup,  the  Sti-pendery  of 
Peterport "  ;  cried  the  voice  again,  "  and  may  the  King 
soon  be  so  well  plased  to  put  un  in  a  berth  better  fittun 
to  his  debilities ! "  Over  this  there  v^as  more  subdued 
laughter  than  shouting. 


Ill 


:i-  '\ 


Meantime  the  sad  loss  was  just  the  same,  and  just  where 
it  was.  The  noble  old  father  whom  they  had  seen  bearing  it 
like  a  hero  a  few  hours  before,  had  carried  home  a  heavy 


AN  OFFICIAL  EXAMINATION.  177 

load;  tho  gentle  mother  was  heart-stricken;  the  whole 
company  of  neighbors,  the  moment  thev  got  away  from 
the  examination  into  the  open  air,— like  those  who  had 
not  been  at  the  Magistrate's,— bore  a  share  of  the  sor- 
row. 

Billy  Bow  and  others  staid  to  share  Mr.  Naughton's 
hospitality;  but  Jesse  Hill  and  Isaac  MafFen  went 
silently  away  in  one  direction.  Skipper  Charlie  moodily 
in  another,  and  many  more  dispersed. 

— "I  wisV  they'd  appoint  Parson  Wellon,  as  they  do 
at  home,"  &.: ,  Gilpin,  as  he  went  along  by  himself. 

"And  I  hope  they'll  just  let  parsons  be  parsons,  and 
magistrates  magistrates,"  said  a  voice  behind. 

"I  didn't  know  your  reverence  was  so  near;"  said 
the  constable  ;  «  but  I  wish  they'd  do  something." 

Captain  Nolesworth,  having  had  no  opportunity  of  de- 
livering his  testimony,  went  back  to  Bay-Harbor  with 
the  intention  of  making  his  affidavit  there,  before  Jie 
sailed.  It  was  to  be  to  the  effect  that  he  saw  three  females 
m  the  punt  leaving  the  Worrell;  that  one  of  them  was 
supported  as  if  sick,  and  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  fear 
or  strange  unwillingness  to  be  neared,  and  that  a  male 
voice,  (as  he  judged,  of  some  one  having  authority ) 
called  out  to  «  Keep  on  !  Keep  on  !  Don't  stop  !  " 

This  was  to  be  the  substance  of  the  captain's  evidence, 
as  he  detailed  it,  walking  up  the  harbor.  He  pronounced 
at  the  same  time  an  opinion  upon  the  magistrate,  some- 
what enigmatical,  as  follows  :— 

"Mr.  Naughton  '11  live  a  good  while,  sir,  I  think,  if  he 
doesn't  meet  with  an  accident ;  that  sort  most  generally 
does."  '' 

The  reader  may  take  the  captain's  speculations  as  to 

th(3  stipendiary's  longevity,  at  what  he  pleases,  and  may 
VOL.  I.  ^2  t-  '  J- 


178 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


estimate  the  captain's  evidence  as  he  thinks  fit;  but  Capt. 
Nolesworth  himself  gave  his  opinion,  as  follows : — 

"  Depend  upon  it,  sir,  if  that  punt  is  followed  up,  you'll 
follow  her  up.  I  wish  I  could  stay  to  see  it  out ;  but  I 
expect  to  be  off  to-morrow.  If  I'd  known  enough  tother 
night,  I'd  have  known  more  of  that  punt,  one  way  or  an- 
other." 

"  It  won't  stop  where  it  is,"  said  the  Minister ;  "  higher 
authorities  will  take  it  up." 

"It  worit  be  amiss  to  lend  a  hand  and  help  along 
justice,  I  think,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  captain. 

The  Parson  turned  aside  and  went  in  at  Mrs.  Barre's 
house. 


?   r 


AN  OLD  SMUGGLER. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN   OLD    SMUGGLER. 

f""  T  was  not  long  after  the  magistratual  examination 
was  completed,  before  the  constable  made  his  ap- 
pearance  at  Mr.  Weilon's  door,  followed  by  Jesse 
ana  a  company. 

;  Please  Mr.  Wellon,"  said  he,  "  here's  a  bit  o'  some- 

^l':V\        '''''  Skipper  George  found  un  in  the 
path  by  h.s  house,  this  mornin'.     That's  what  made  un 

*tV  ban.'!""'  "°'  '^"*^''  ^"" "'  ^^'-  ^'^^""'^  '^-^^y^ 

"'P;  was  lyun  jes  this  w'y,  sir,"  said  Jesse;  («  so 
Uncle.  George  told  I,)  wf  Vs  broadside  to,  an'  a  string 
fast  to  un,  e  said,  otherw'ys  Uncle  George  wouldn'  ha' 
tookt  notus  to  un,  'e  said,  ^didn'  urn  Izik?)  an'  the  string 
cotch  'e's  foot,  sir."  ^ 

The  thir.g  was  a  chip,  smoothed  on  all  sides,  and  bear- 
ing an  mscription,  rude  and  illegible  enough,  but  which 
Jesse  repeated  very  glibly  in  his  own  Enc^lish. 
"YER  MEAD  IS  SAFE  ANF" 
It  was  determined  that  the  bit  of  wood  was  an  oar- 
blade,  and  that  the  meaning  was, 

"  Tour  maid  is  safe  enough." 
Gilpin  dismissed  the  fishermen  and  went,  as  he  had 
been  desired,  into  Mr.  Weilon's  study. 


180 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


The  writing  upon  the  chip  was  not  the  only  literaiy 
effort  to  be  scrutinized.  Tliere  had  been  left  at  the 
Minister's  door,  during  the  night,  a  bit  of  paper  on  which 
(the  handwriting  being  better  than  the  spelling  or  syntax) 
was  written  as  follows : — 
^  "  Thers  som  prodstins  bisen  about  sarchen  that's  not  to 
Gud  is  niver  thafe  ar  smuglar  Emunx  thim  id  hk  to  no 
Pjf  a!  tels  bes  thru — plen  Spakun." 

Gilpin  made  his  way  through  this  much  more  readily 
than  Mr.  VvT^ellon  had  done,  smiling  at  the  word  "Emunx" 
■which  he  said  "  was  one  way  o'  spellin'  it ! " 

What  the  writer  meant  to  have  written,  it  was  con- 
cluded, was, — 

"  There's  some  Protestants  busying  about  searching, 
that's  not  too  good.  Is  {there)  never  (a)  thief  or  smug- 
gler amongst  them,  Id  like  to  know,— if  all  tales  bes  true  ? 
— Plain  Speaking." 

Gilpin  said,  "  It  was  easy  enough  to  see  what  that 
meant;  it  meant  Ladford,  who  fished  with  Skipper 
George,  and  who  was  said  to  have  been  a  wild  apd  des- 
perate fellow  years  ago,  and  to  have  a  price  on  his  head. 
He  had  been  very  active  in  the  search ;  a  quiet  man  that 
kept  back,  as  Mr.  Wellon  no  doubt  had  noticed, on  Saturday. 
But  if  ever  a  man  had  repented  in  this  world,  Ladford 
had  repented,  Gilpin  believed,  and  he  had  been  a  great 
many  yea^s  in  the  country.  Withal  he  was  the  very 
handiest  man  in  the  Bay ;  could  work  a  frigate,  Gilpin 
believed,  single-handed,  and  twirl  her  round  in  her  own 
length. 

"  As  for  Skipper  George's  daughter,  everybody  knew 
that  Ladford  considered  her  as  an  angel,  or  something 
more  than  earthly ;  and  it  was  no  more  to  be  thought  that 
he'd  harm  her,  than  that  her  own  father  would.     Tjiere 


"* 


AN  OI,D  SMUOtiLER. 


181 


"-o.^  something  between  Ladford  ard  Skipper  George- 
but^whether  there  wa.  a  ™.ation.hip,  or  what,  „o.:S; 

alk  w,.h  h,m;  to  g,ve  the  letter  to  the  magistrate  Jus. 
<l.e„.  was  not  thought  likely  to  further  the  onl  of  justice 
not-^was  tt  thought  advisable  to  mention  it.  '  ' 

»entr;ha»"'"r"''''  "'•'"'""•  '"'°"'-  "'"  S™'.  -'""=<! 
well  „o,  th  attendmg  to ;  and  it  was  determined,  if  possible 

expressed  a  wdbngness,  on  behalf  of  the  house,  to  put 
down  tbejr  natnes  for  Mty  pounds  towards  one  hu^dredf  "o 

half  of  fifty  pounds  for  finding  her  body ;   and  it  was 

doub^tdl  r""  '^  '"""'''  """^'^  "P  'he  full  sum.  Un- 
doubtedly Government  would  take  it  up,  if  the  local 
™ag,strates  could  not  do  any  thing  ..  and  wttever  fle!:^' 
any  .hould  eome  out,  tmplieating  any  persons  in  the  guilt 
of  ktdnappmg  or  abduetion,  could   be  laid  before  the 

Indmn  Pe.nt,  was  the  worst  there,_and  scarcely  a  house 
Lad  ord,  h„„self,  was  of  middle  si.e,  or  mo,.,'^and  up: 

Zp'seTI"     ,^  'r'-    '''  "''  "  "'«'■•  -othVoreh^ad; 
deep..,et  eyes,  look.ng  as  if  their  fires  were  raked  up : 

^ned'l'rf  r'  "'"  '"""^  """  "P'^-'he  whole  fac 
tanned  by  bfe-long  exposure  to  the  weather. 

Beside  a  battered  "souWester,"  thrown  backward  his 
dress  was  made  up  of  a  shirt  of  br.ad-bag-stuir"rewed 
wtth  round  twine,  in  even  sailmaker's  stitche;  and'cle  ^ 
and  of  ttwsers  cut  out  of  tatmed  sails,  and  sewed  as 
neatly  as  the  shirt.     His  feet  were  bare. 


w 


182 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


i 


I 'if  ■! 


Sfl 


"  I've  come  upon  some  private  business  with  you,"  said 
the  Minister ; — Ladford  started.  The  Minister,  noticing 
it,  said :  "  but  I'm  not  an  officer  ;  you  needn't  be  afraid 
of  me." 

"  I  oughtn't,  sir,  surely,  of  a  Minister,"  said  Ladford. 

"  No  ;  and  needn't.  You  see  I  know  something  of  your 
oase ;  and  we  should  have  known  each  other,  if  I  could 
have  found  you  before ;  for  I've  been  here  two  or  three 
times." 

^3  he  mentioned  his  fruitless  visits,  a  startling — most 
repulsive — leer  just  showed  itself  in  Ladford's  face ;  but 
it  disappeared,  as  suddenly  and  wholly,  as  a  monster  that 
has  come .  up,  horrid  and  hideous,  to  the  surface  of  the 
sea,  and  then  has  sunk  again,  bodily,  into  the  dark  Deep ; 
and  is  gone,  as  if  it  had  never  come,  except  for  the  fear 
and  loathing  that  it  leaves  behind. — This  face,  after  that 
look,  had  nothing  repulsive  in  it,  but  was  only  the  more 
subdued  and  sad. 

There  was  a  short  silence  ;  and  then  Ladford  spoke  : — 

"  Some  men,"  said  he,  "  mus'n't  keep  upon  their  form  ; 
for  it  won't  do  for  them  to  be  found  by  every  one ;  but 
I'm  sorry  you  came  for  nothing,  sir ;  I'd  have  been  here 
if  I'd  known  you  meant  it." 

The  ^linister  took  the  anonymous  letter  from  his  pocket, 
and*read  it. 

"  There  ! "  said  he,  "  that's  what  I  came  about ;  but 
I  come  as  a  Minister,  you  know,  and  therefore  as  a 
friend." 

"  I  believe  it,  sir,"  said  Ladford,  who  had  been  looking 
in  his  face,  and  now  bowed.  "  I  don't  blame  any  man 
for  thinking  ill  of  me,  or  speaking  ill  of  me  ; — I'm  a  poor 
fellow ; — but  this  does  me  wrong.  Why,  sir !  it  may 
sound  strange,  but  I'd  give  my  life  to  find  that  girl ! 
Poor  Susan ! " 


AN  OLD  SMUGGLER. 


183 


"  Lucy  ?  "  said  the  Minister,  scarcely  aloud. 
"No,  sir;  it's  another  makes  me  sorry,  —  one  that's 
dead.    Ah,  sir !  I  was  brought  up  to  wickedness,  for  a  trade  ! 
Law-bi-eaking,    Sabbath-breaking,   oath-breaking,    heart- 
breaking, swearing,  drinking,  fighting,-~thirty.8ix  years  I 
was  among  all  that,  and  more ;  shamed  by  it,  and  hating 
It,  till  1  got  away  from  it— Then,  after  all,  to  feel  a  devil 
insule  of  you,  that  you've  got  in  a  chain;  and  to  feel  him 
elimb  up  against  the  sides  of  you,  m  here,  before  you 
know,  and  glare,  with  his  devilish  look,  out  of  your  eyes, 
and  put  his  dirty  paw  and  pull  up  the  corners  of  your 
mouth,  and  play  with  the  tackle  in  your  throat,  and  make 
the  words  come  out  as  you  didn't  mean,  and  then  to  feel 
that  this  fellow's  growth  is  out  of  your  own  life  !  " 

Mr.  Wellon,  as  he  looked  at  the  man,  during  this 
speech,  could  see,  in  a  sort  of  fearful  pantomime,  the 
struggle  started  and  stifled  between  the  poor  fellow  and 
his  devilish  beastly  familiar. 

"  But  you  do  get  him  down.  Christ  will  trample  him 
under  foot.  The  more  you  need  it,  the  more  help  you 
get ;  '  He  giveth  more  grace,'  "  said  the  Minister  of  God, 
pouring  out  encouragement  to  him. 

"  I  hnven't  been  a  man,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  showing, 
by  the  very  words,  that  he  had  never  lost  his  manhood''; 

"  I  nev(;r  was  a  son,  nor  a  brother,  nor  &  friend ." 

"  Were  you  ever  married  ?  "  asked  the  Minister.  ' 
"  No  sir  ;  never.  I  ought  to  have  been,  and  meant  to 
have  been  ;  but  I  wasn't.-There's  one  that  knows  that 
story,  ,f  he  choose  to  tell  it ; "  and  saying  this,  Ladford 
looked  at  the  Parson  humbly,  as  if  waiting  for  further 
question,  and  then  proceeded  :  "It's  just  about  that  part 
of  my  life  I'll  tell,-if  you'll  please  to  hear ;   'twas  the 


;:|: 


184 


THE  NKW   PRll'ST. 


Ill 


!     ; 


happicHt  and  'twos  tho  mo8t  lerrible  suxl,  and  mouriiftti  in 
it  all.  And  it'll  come  in  very  well  just  now.  Per- 
haps, you'll  know  mo  the  better  wli<'n  you've  heard  it.  1 
tried  to  do  my  duty  like  a  man,  to  one  thiiijj^,  and  there's 
all  that's  left  of  it,"  takinjf  the  black  ribbon  out  of  a 
Bibhs "  Is's  all  right, —it's  all  ri«,'ht !  " 

M.my  well-bred  fieopU;  would  have  been  content  with 
seeing  this  |K)or  mini's  relic,  and  would  have  kept  their 
touch  and  smell  far  off  from  it ;  but  Mr.  Wellon,  with  the 
senses  of  a  gentii^man,  had  a  man's  heart,  and  was  a  min- 
ister of  Christ.  He  saw  that  the  owner  wi  'led  to  lay  it 
in  his  hand,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  for  it  and  took  it. 

"  That  riband,"  the  story  went  on,  "  used  to  be  about  a 

little  boy's  neck;  a  pretty  little  fellow  : like  this  Lucy ; 

very  like ! — It  isn't  likel)  that  he'd  have  been  a  wonder- 
ful scholar,  like  her,' but  oh!  as  pretty  a  little  fellow  as 
ever  God  made  to  grow  in  the  world.  He  was  so 
straight ! — and  he  stood  right  up  and  looked  in  your  face ; 
as  much  as  to  say, '  Do  you  know  God  ?  Well,  I  belong 
to  Him.'  There ! There  !  " — said  poor  Ladford,  over- 
come with  what  he  had  been  saying  and  lliinking,  and 
falling  down  on  himself, — his  breast  on  his  Bible  and  his 
head  between  his  knees — and  giving  two  heaves  of  his 
body,  forward  and  back.  He  then  raised  himself  up 
again  ;  and,  as  his  hearer,  o^  course,  said  nothing,  he 
bv'gan  again,  when  he  ^•'a.s  ready :  "  His  hair  was  as 
thick  and  solid,  as  '^*^'\  Wiis  cut  out  of  stone  ;  and  his  lip  had 
such  a  curl  to  it,  just  like  the  "crest  to  a  wave  ; — you 
know  Lucy's, — it  was  much  the  same.  I  can't  tell  you  his 
eyes.  You  could  look  into  'em,  and  wouldn't  think  there 
was  any  bottom  to  'em.     It  seemed  as  if  you  could  look 

miles  into  'em. Oh  !  that  boy  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  such 

an  intense  sort  of  way  as  might  have  fixed  one  of  the 


AN   OLIJ    SMUGULEB. 


18A 


tm.  ^i,Uo  list.nin«,  and  then  suddenly  appeal..!  to  hi. 

"  Vcu're  not  .ire.l  of  hearing,  Mr.  Wellon  ?  " 
No,  no." 

liHud  !  this  vciy  hand 1 » 

Th.  voice  «.,.,  o,K.  of  ,o,™«r  „„d  „„,  „f  „.^^^ 
'".'  "K  "I  .n,„d   ,l,„  wild  li,b  ,l,„t  „,i,  ,„,„,  h„„  ,,„,  ;^  • 
l--l«PS  l.,.v,nK  Ids  lK.art  lull  of  ,„„  ddid  tl.at  had  ,e  1 , 
a  M.o..u.n,,.„..„,  ,0  ,„.  „,„,„„  „,^^,  ,^  ,_^__^_  jj^  ^2; 

"  Why,  what  did  you  do  to  him  ?" 

'*  Oh  !  no !  not ...  bad  as  that.-Not  worse  than  I  am 

self-n.proaoh;  "but  I  couldn't  have  hurt  Au.,  unlefs  I 
was  .IruMk,  and  I  never  was  drunk  in  my  life  " 
"  VV  hose  child  was  it?  »  asked  the  clergyman. 
Ihe  smuggler  looked  at  him,  with  a  start,  and  an- 

swered  uisfaiuly, 

"  He  was  God's  child  !  " 

II,.vi„g  waUed  for  any  further  question,  and  none  bei„. 
asked,  he  „g,„„  went  on  where  he  had  left  off-- 

I  took  hi,n  ,o  the  church  myself,  on  this  arm  and 

wo  ..Hi  gc«>,I  Christians  were  godfather  and  godmother 

fo   the  ,»or  mother-,  sake.     I  was  over  in  the  Ir  cor  er 

/«  was,,  t   here.     I  didn't  ea,-ry  him  back  f,.m  ch„,"h 

would,,  t  have  opened  my  arms  to  take  him  in  any  more 

;^..  .*  he'd  been  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  in  a  IZl^ 

i';Z  *  .  '""^  ■'■"■  '"^^'y-^'  -'"erless,  fathertas;' 

o  ■ 

"  Why,  what  became  of  the  mother  ?  " 

J^i  '  '^u.^'"^'     ^^'"""^^^'  '^'  ^<'  answered  the 
smuggler,  shakmg  his  head  and  looking  down.    « I  can't 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


'4  5 
|50      '-^=' 

^  tiS, 


IIM    III  2.5 


2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


U    III  1.6 


inu 


Photographi 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIK  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


% 


s^^m 


186 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


talk  about  her,  sir — but  the  boy  growed ;  and  the  sea,  that 
lial  had  so  much  wickedness  done  on  it,  got  that  boy." 

"  I  thought  he  never  came  near  it,"  said  the  Parson, 
much  as  if  he  thouglit  that  he  could  save  it  all  yet,  and 
keep  tlie  pretty  boy,  by  thrusting  in  an  impossibility  made 
of  words. 

Poor  Ladford  looked  mournfully  at  him,  and  wistfully, 
almost  as  if  ho,  too,  half  hoped  that  it  might  not  all  be  as 
it  was,  and  then,  glancing  at  the  black  ribbon,  continued 
his  story : — 

"  He  never  did,  sir ;  but  it  got  him,  just  as  much  as  if 
it  had  a  great  rope  of  seaweed  fast  to  him  and  dragged 
him  in.  One  day  when  I  was  going  down  the  cliff,  think- 
ing of  nothing,  what  should  be  there,  like  a  beautiful  bird 
or  a  butterfly  on  the  path,  but  that  handsome,  handsome 
boy!  I  was  confused  and  mazed  like,  I  suppose.  It 
was  so  strange  to  see  him  there ;  I  don't  know  if  he'd 
ever  been  told  not  to  come  to  the  sea ;  but  he'd  been  kept 
about  home ;  and  when  I  saw  him,  if  I'd  only  once  had 
the  thought  to  speak  to  him ;— but  I  hadn't.  I  was  fright- 
ened, I  suppose,  and  I  put  out  my  hand  to  save  him— just 
this  way — and  that's  all.  That  was  the  last  ever  was 
known  of  that  beautiful  child,  alive.  There's  my  mark," 
said  Ladford,  showing  the  lower  half  of  his  left  arm  with 
a  knob  on  it,  where  it  might  have  been  broken. 

"  Ah  !  that's  a  bad  break.  That  was  broken  in  more 
than  one  place,  or  it  hadn't  good  surgery,"  said  Mr. 
Wellon. 

"  You  know  about  surgery,  sir  ?  "  said  the  smuggler. 
"  It  was  broken  more  than  once ;  but  I  think  the  surgeon 
did  his  best.     I  went  over  the  cliff,  too." 

"  And  the  child  was  lost  and  you  saved,  though  all  the 
probability  was  the  other  way." 


AN   OLD  SMUGGLER. 


187 


I  (!S, 


indeed.     They  say  I  gave  a  great  spring,  like  a 
mad.nau  and  cleared  every  thing,  (except  what  Id  this! 
a^  uobody  could  tell  what  that  was,)  and  kel  he  wen 
nght  down  to  Ins  death.      There  was  a  rose-bush  all 
there,  where  they  buried  hin.,  and  his  spirit  and  life  and 
all  lus  dear,  blessed  beauty  was  gone  awav  out  of  the 
jorkl ;  and  whether  it  took  something  out  ^f  my  eyes  I 
^ont  know;   but  there  isn't  such  a  brightness  on  the 
leaves,  or  grass,  or  any  where.     I  saved  that  bit  of  rib- 
and;  ,t  went  down  with  me  and  came   up  with  me- 
Now,  s.r,"  said  Ladford,  suddenly  gathering  himself  up 
'I  want  to  get  this  giri  of  George  Barbury's.     It's  a  go<S 
thmg  that  ,t  wasn't  me  that  went  down ;  ay,  it's  a  merci- 
^ul  thmg,  that  It  wasn't  me  taken  away  without  e'er  a 
hand^  or  a  word  raised   up  !_But,   Parson   Wellor    if 
there  s  a  way  on  earth,  we  must  find  George  Barbury's 
daughter.     God  only  knows  what  Vd  give  to  be  the  one 
to  hnd  her  !_I  owe  George  Barbury  life's  blood,  and 
more  !— Only  one  thing  beside,  I  care  for." 

The  Minister  waited,  but  Ladford  added  nothing. 
"  Then  that  brought  you  up  .?  "  '^ 

"  I  "'«*  brought  ^p  at  last,  but  it  was  years  first.     I 
stopped  many  a  bad  thing  being  done  by  shipmates  or 
landsmen  after  that,  and  at  last  I  knocked  ri-rht  off.     I 
had  a  house  and  a  garden  and  a  fishing  boat,  and  I  meant 
to  se  1    the  whole  of  'em,  and  give  away  the  money  to 
somethmg  .good  ;  but  they  got  out  a  warrant  against  me, 
long  after  I'd  given  up,  and  just  when  I  was  goin<.  to  try 
to  do  some  good  after  all  ray  bad,  and  so  I  got  awk  and 
came  off;  and  the  neighbors  know  what  I've  been  since 
1  ve  been  in  this  country." 

"  You  haven't  given  over  honest  labor,  I  hope,  now 
that  you  are  repenting?"  asked  Mr.  Wellon,  his  question 


1'^     III 
!^      III 


188 


Till-;   NKW   IMMIIST. 


I. ', 


boing  Olio  that  ini^r|,t  i„.  siijrjrt>st(ul  very  imturally,  by  the 
H|>p''«irunw  oftlu.  foniu«r  smuffghn-'s  hoiiso  and  dress. 

•'  No,  sir  ;  I  ,lo  n  huiu'm  work,"  answered  the  smuggler; 
"perhaps  more." 

♦'  IJm  you  don'f  «h'ink  " — 

"  And  y««t  I  |iv<'  in  ihat  wirtehed  phiee,  and  dress  like 
a  eonviet,  you  mifrlu  say,"  answered  Ladlonl  with  a  quiet, 
sad  smil.',  iirawinfr  the  contrast,  in  words,  that  the  Minis- 
ter had,  most  hkely,  in  liis  thoujrht, 

•'  For  a  man's  work  you  ean  get  a  man's  wages,  can't 
you  ?  " 

"  That  wonhhi't  follow  in  my  case,"  said  the  poor  exile ; 
"  but  I  do." 

Mr.  Wellon  mulerstood  the  senten.^o  and  replied— 
"  IJut  certainly,  any  body  that  employed  you  would  pay 
yon  ?  " 

"  Not  so  surely  ;  hut  I'm  laying  .,p  wages  in  one  place, 
I  hope.  I  live,  and  adl  I  ean  do  in  a  day's  work,  is  for 
othei's,  and  I  hope  I'm  laying  something  by." 

Just  as  Mr.  Wellon  was  leaving  him,  a  voice  was 
heard  fix>m  above,  in  the  little  woods,  and  Ladford  an- 
swered— 

"  'Ls.  I'se  a  oomin'.  I'll  he  with  'ee  in  short,  md 
bear  a  hand  about  tluit  elmmley."  And  so  entirely  had 
he  taken  the  woitls  and  way  of  the  country,  that  he 
seemed  almost  another  man. 

His  story  had  not  been  a  very  complete  one ;  but 
the.-e  seemed  to  be  a  tie  that  bound  Ladford  to  Lucy's 
thther,.or  herself,  through  that  boy  and  the  boy's  mother. 


TWO  WHO  HAVE  MET   BEFORE. 


189 


CHAPTER  XXTT. 

APT   INTERVIEW    OF   TWO    WHO    HAVK    MET    BEFORE. 

f^  N  the  whirl  «f  happenings  and  doingH  wo  must  not 
too  long  forget  somt^  of  our  chi(;f  (rharaciters.     Fan- 
ny Dare,  who  saw  most  of  Mrs.  Barre,--indeed 
any  one  who  knew  her,  c^ould  i.ot  but  see  the  change 
which   a   little    while    had   made    in    her;    for  she  was 
changed.     There  were   tears  often-     in    her  ey<.s  now 
than  before ;  and  tlu^y  wen,  formerly  not  seldom  there. 
Her  cheek  was  something  thinner  and  more  jmle ;  there 
was  a  fixed  and   intent  look  in  her  (5ye  when  she  was 
listenmg  to  anotho,  or  was  in  thought;  and  when  she 
spoke,— if  her  thoughts  were  not  ai)parently  abstracted  — 
her  words  came  so  few  and  strong,  th  it  it  seemed  as'  if 
all  she  did  were  done  with  a  great  might.     Yet  she  was 
gentle  and  tender. 

There  was  a  wakefulness  about  her,  as  if  she  were  ever 
fearing  or  expecting  something;  and  she  had  that  expres- 
sion, which,  to  the  best  hearts,  is  most  touchinrr  in  the 
human  face  ;  not  of  asking  pity,  but  of  needing  It.     Her 
eye  grew  fuller,  as  her  cheek  became  more  thin  and  pale 
It  IS  very  touching  to  see  one  to  whom  life  is  so  earnest 
and  seiious  a  thing,  as  it  evidently  was  to  Mrs.  Harre  • 
(there  was  no  trifling,  or  play,  or  idleness  with  her ;)  and 
It  was  quite  as  touching  to  see  how  unforgettingly  she 
kept  her  burden  from  bearing  on  the  young  life  of  little 
Mary. 


190 


THE   NEW   PRIEST. 


It  wa<!  on  Monday  evening  that  she  sat  in  her  chamber, 
whose  window  looked  to  the  west,  and  gazed  upward  into 
the  sky.  Her  smooth  forehead,  whose  clear  brows  were 
bared  by  the  falling-back  of  her  dark  hair,  and  her  large 
eyes  fixed,  made  her  a  fit  figure  for  the  silent  time. 

Miss  Dare  sat  near  her. 

Before  them  both  hung  one  bright  star,  in  air ;  and  on 
the  earth  was  the  still  land  and  water ;  and  far  off,  the 
inland  hills,  which,  at  this  distance,  and  in  this  weaning 
light,  and  standing  in  a  land  as  unknown  as  if  it  were  yet 
undiscovered,  look  like  a  rim  of  some  happy,  hidden  val- 
ley. 

Mrs.  Barre  had  neveivopened  her  mystery,  further,  to 
her  friend  ;  nor  of  course,  had  Fanny  sought  to  look  into 
it ;  only,  that  there  was  something,  was  understood  be- 
tween them. 

Mr.  Biure  broke  the  thoughtful  silence,  saying, 
"  Sometimes  what  I  am  striving  and  hoping  for  seems 
as  hopeless  and  unattainable  as  the  star  that  the  child 
reaches  after."  (Such  was  the  bright  star  shining  down 
to  them,  mildly  as  it  had  shone  so  many — countless 
many  -nights  since  first  this  world  knew  darkness.) 
"  And  yet,"  she  added,  "  auguries  are  nothing.  The  faith 
of  our  best  wisdom,  and  clearest  o  iscience,  and  simplest 
trust,  is  right !  " 

So  she  spoke,  in  faith  ,  and  so  God  heard,  who  orders 
all  things.  There  are,  to  us,  no  gales,— the  "geminaj 
somni  portae,"— through  one  of  which  fleet  disregarded 
hopes  and  [)rayers  unheeded ;  while,  through  the  other, 
go  glad  prayers  accepted  and  bright  hopes  to  their  fulfil- 
ment ;  and  yet  in  our  day,  as  of  old,  one  strong  wish  forces 
its  way  through  rugged,  rocky  soil,  grows  up  from  sturdy 
root,  and  comes  to  ripeness  ;  another  falls  and  leaves  not 


TWO   WHO   HAVE   MET  BEFORE.  jgj 

a  wreck  of  froth  upon  the  ground,  where  stood  a  perfect 
globe  of  loveliest  hues. 

While  she  was  speaking,  a  man  came  across  the  little 
open  green  towards  the  house.  He  was  of  an  unfamiliai^ 
look  and  unlike  the  harbor-planters,  but  he  came  straight 
forward,  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  and  not 
h«  itating,  up  to  the  gate  and  through  the  gate,  to  the 
door,  and  there  he  had  a  message  for  the  lady  of  the 
h'Mi^e  ;  for  Mrs.  Bray,  as  he  called  her. 

Mrs.  Barre  was  much  agitated,  and  pressed  Fanny's 
hand,  as  she  rose  to  go  down  to  him,  and  leaned  against 
the  stairs  in  the  hall,  as  she  stood  to  hear  his  message. 

The  man  was  an  uncourtly  messenger.  «  A  Catholic 
clergyman,"  he  said,  "desired  his  compliments,  and  would 
like  to  meet  Mrs.  Bray  at  Mr.  Henran's,  at  any  time  she 
might  please  to  set." 

The  lady's  voice  testified  to  her*  agitation,  as  she  an- 
swered, "  1  shall  be  happy  to  meet  such  a  person  as  you 
speak  of;  but,  of  course,  I  cannot  make  appointments  out 
of  my  own  house." 

"It's  a  Catholic  praste,"  said  the  messenger,  almost 
gruffly. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  I  don't  know  any  thing  about,  ma'am ;  I  was  to  * 
say  '  a  clergyman.'  " 

"  And  what  is  your  own  name  ?  " 

"  Fioyne  is  my  name." 

*'  Yes ;  then  have  the  kindness  to  say  that  I  am  at 
home  now,  and  expect  to  be  at  home  to-morrow,  till  three 
o'clock." 

The  man  turned  on  his  heel,  and  with  an  ungracious 
or  awkward  ceremony  departed. 
•    Mrs.  Barre,  after  standing  a  few  moments  where  she 


192 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


was.  went  up  stairs  to  her  seat  opposite  the  bright  star, 
takin<r  Fanny's  hand  and  holding  it.  Presently  she  spoke 
of  the  appointment  she  had  iust  made,  and  hoped  that 
Banny  IJare  might  be  in  the  uouse  when  the  meeting 
took  place.  They  both  started,  as  again  a  man's  dark 
figure  came  upon  the  green ;  Mrs.  Barre,  clasping  her 
hands,  turned  away  to  the  wall. 

A  knock  was  heard  ;  not  long  nor  loud,  but  even,  regl 
ular,  decided ;  the  work  of  a  hand  whose  weight  was 
exactly  known. 

"  I  didn't  expect  him  to  be  on  us  so  soon,"  taid  Fanny 
Dare;  "  what  shall  I  do.?" 

"  Just  stay  here,  if  you'll  be  so  good.  Don't  go  further 
off;  there's  a  good  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Barre. 

"  But  it's  almost  the  same  thing  as  being  in  the  same 
room,"  said  Fanny,  in  a  whisper. 

I\f  rs.  Barre  was  too  occupied  to  answer,  and  the  servant 
announced  a  gentleman  to  see  her,  waiting  in  the  parlor 
below. 

JNIrs.  Barre  came  to  the  door  of  the  room,  pale,  and 
earnest,  and  straightforward,  as  she  always  was  in  all 
things ;  but  as  she  paused  upon  the  outside,  so  on 
lirst  entering  the  room,  the  door  of  which  she  did  not 
shut  entirely,  she  paused,  with  her  sight  fixed  upon  the 
floor. 

When  she  raised  her  eyes,  she  found  the  gentleman 
standing  respectfully;  it  was  Father  Nicholas.  In  the 
light  of  the  candle,  which  marked  distinctly  the  well-cut 
outlines  of  his  features,  and  threw  the  deep  lines  and 
hollows  into  shadow,  he  looked  more  handsome  and 
thoughtful  than  even  by  day.  His  simple  black  dress 
was  just  as  fit,  nnd  seemed  as  much  to  belong  to  him  as 
his  smooth,  shining  cassock  or  soutane. 


J. 

ill' 


I 
[• 


TWO  WHO  HAVE  MET  BEFORE.  193 

Mrs.  Barrfe  started,  but  said,  instantly,  "You  are  no 
guest  ,n  my  house,  Mr.  Crampton."  "^ 

^^  He  stood  meekly  and  unobtrusively,  looking   on  the 

"I  hope,"  said  he,  "  that  any  harsh  feelings  or  iniuri 

ous  suspicions,  formed  in  other  days "  ^ 

**  I  I^now  you,  Mr.  Crampton!  "  she  snJ,!    i,^m-       \ 

We  8h„n  have  no  further  communication  together" 

s'^Lg,-  '"°"'"  "'""  ■""'""'«™  of  W«  body, 

"Not  now  but  very  likely  hereafter.    I  think  you  will 

»ot  forget-I  came  with  little  hope  of  saving  ™u  if, 

to  clear  my  own  soul."  ^  '    '    "' 

^L\T^u'  """P  '■'''""«''  =■""  Fa^-y  Dare.      «I 
Wish  I  had  been  deaf ,  I  can  be  dumb." 

They  sat  long  sUent,  and  she  held  Mra.  Barrb'a  hand. 
M^  Barrt  sat  long  after  Fam>y  had  gone  home. 


I 


-  iii8 


VOL.  I, 


13 


194 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 


FATHER  DEBREE  AT  BAT-HARBOR. 


AY-HARBOR  is  a  town  of  some  importance  in 
Conception  Bay  ;  and  quite  a  place  of  trade  and 
bui^iness.  It  is  also  the  diicf  town  of  a  district, 
as  respects  the  Roman  Catholic  Church ;  and  the  chief 
clergyman  of  that  denomination  officiating  in  liay-Harbor 
is  superior  in  rank  and  title  to  the  others  in  that  district. 

At  this  time  the  Romish  clergy  there  were  the  Very 
Reverend  Father  O'Toole,  the  Reverend  Father  Dunne, 
(absent  for  some  months,)  and  the  Father  Nicholas,  whom 
the  reader  has  already  met. 

The  elder  priest  had  been  for  a  good  many  years  at 
Bay-Harbor,  and  was  generally  liked  and  thought  of,  as 
easy-going,  good-natured  men  are  apt  to  be.  He  held 
the  reins  of  discipline  gently  ;  had  been,  until  quite  lately, 
}i  frequent  visitor  in  Protestant  families,  and  had  made  a 
present  of  his  horse  to  the  Protestant  clergyman. 

The  nature  of  P^ather  Nicholas's  position  there,  or  con- 
nection with  the  mission,  was  not  very  evident.  By  short 
and  frequent  steps  he  had  made  his  way  into  the  very 
midst  of  every  thing;  had  got  Father  O'Toole's  right 
hand,  as  it  were,  in  his ;  while  the  latter  had,  for  the  last 
few  months,  (since  the  withdrawal  of  the  priest  who  had 
been  associated  wiih  himsel^  for  years,  and  who  was  ex- 


THE  NEW  PRreST  AT  BAY-RARBOB.  jgj 

»p™wlly  l,v  .1,6  lrnl„  7.,        ,  ""    '"''■"    "'■"'   »•" 

i"..o..„ j.,;;:r;;:;v,:z  -^^^^^^^^^  7' ■ 

town  n  r>i,.  .^     i-  u"-"i'"    iiiink  Hicir  own 

obscurity  that  evon   lin<r  vi    \  "  "* 

/  iimi  evtn  liay-Haibor  must  be  considcrpH  «« 

..•on,  .ha.  Father  ^iJTZ  ^:C:t'Z:'"^- 
pnes.Iy  f„„eti„„  and  authority,  a„,l  thaU  tiT»  "i"'^ 
prejudice  only  that  attribntod^o  t ,    Chu    h  „f  R   "  "7 

;rr  """"-^'^  "■<""^'»  p---  ""entionT^:!;- 

ti-s,  „e,Hge„t  and  oC"a "  ^^^^^^^^^       7'  -- 

Mant,,>i„-irc:-a.<:jrt:t:; 


1,'i 


196 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


aniithe.sis  about  him ;  he  allowcfl  liimsdf  often  in  a  remark, 
whose  freedom  betrayed  his  familiarity  with  the  ways 
and  wisdom  of  the  world,  or  whose  sarcasm,  bitterness,  or 
even  venom  showed  the  cheap  estimate  at  which  he  held 
men  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  would  utter,  habit- 
ually, lofty  principles  of  virtue,  and  warm  and  moving 
arguments  for  truth,  and  quoted  (in  their  own  language,) 
the  offices  of  the  Church  and  the  authorized  Scri[)tures, 
very  frequently  and  with  great  solemnity. 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  influence  of  his  new  associate 
upon  the  plain  old  Father  Terence.  Nominally  and 
ostensibly  at  the  head  of  the  clergy  of  the  district,  and 
enjoying  the  title  of  Very  Reverend,  he  put  the  other 
forward,  very  often,  or  allowed  him  to  put  himself  for- 
ward, both  in  doir.g  and  counselling,  in  a  way  which 
proved  his  own  indolence,  or  the  intellectual  or  other 
superiority  of  the  younger  man. 

In  one  respect  the  influence  of  the  younger  upon  the 
elder  was  amusingly  exhibited;  the  worthy  Father 
Terence,  having  resumed  his  studies,  and  making  a  point 
of  quoting  Latin  and  also  of  discoursing  ethics  and 
log'c  when  the  presence  of  Father  Nicholas  tempted  him. 
He  also  prevented  the  recognition  of  his  own  precedence 
to  tali  into  desuetude,  by  asserting  or  inferring  it,  not 
seldom. 

Father  Nicholas,  for  his  part,  proclaimed  his  own  sub- 
ordination. 

So  matters  stood  in  Bay-Harbor,  at  the  time  of  our 
story,  and  to  the  house  in  which  the  two  priests  Hved,  not 
far  from  the  chapel,  we  are  now  to  bring  our  reader. 


It  must  have  been  about  seven  o'clock,  on  the  Tuesday 
morning,  that  Father  Debree  was  leading  the  horse  from 


THE   NKW  PRIEST  AT  BAY-UAKBOK.  ly; 

wliich  hfi  fuul  just  dismounted,  into  the  premi.-NJs  of  the 
Konian  Catholic  mission  ut  Bay-Harbor. 

"Ah !  thin,  it's  the  early  bird  catches  the  fox,"  cried 
a  good-natured  voice  from  above.  "Can  ye  tie  him 
some  place,  a  bit  ?  an'  I'll  be  with  ye,  directly." 

While  the  utterer  of  the  proverb  was  corning,  or  pre- 
paring to  come,  the  dismounted  horseman  looked  about 
tor  the  «8ome  place"  ai  which  to  hitch  his  horse,  a  thing 
•more  easily  sought  than  found.  Posts  there  were  nonel 
trees  there  were  none ;  and  at  lengtti  the  horse  was  fas- 
tened to  the  paling  near  the  road. 

"  Y'are  younger  than  meself,"  said  the  voice,  which 
had  before  addressed  him,  and  which  now  came  through 
the  door,  "and  ye  haren't  that  weight  of  cares  and  labors; 
but  I'm  glad  to  see  ye,"  it  added  heartily,  as  Father  De- 
bree  came  up  into  the  door  and  received  a  very  hospi- 
table shake  of  the  hand. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  being  so  unseasonable,  Father 
Terence,"  said  the  visitor.  "You  didn't  expect  me  so 
early  ?  " 

"Ah,  brother,  if  ye  do  ever  be  placed  in  a  con- 
spikyis  and  responsible  post,  ye'll  know  that  it's  what 

belongs  to  us.      I  am  continyally,  continyally, but 

come  in  ! " 

As  he  talked  thus.  Father  Terence  had  gone,  with  dig- 
nity,  solid  and  substantial,  before  his  guest  into  the  parior. 
The  dignitary's  most  "conspikyis"  garment  was  not  such 
as  gentlemen  of  any  occupation  or  profession  are  accu  - 
tomed  to  appear  in.  It  was  not  white,  and  yet  it  was  not 
black  or  colored ;  it  did  not  fit  him  very  handsomely ;  was 
somewhat  short  in  the  legs,  with  a  string  or  two  dangling 
from  the  lower  ends,  and,  indeed,  had  the  appearance  of 
something  other  than  a  pair  of  trowsers. 


m 


198 


THE  NEW   PKiEST. 


His  stockings  were  not  m«  conspikyis  " ;  being  one  of 
gray  and  one  of  black-mixed,  very  indulgently  pulled  on 
and  crowd'^d  into  two  slippers,  (not  a  pair,)  of  which  one 
had  the  appearance  of  being  a  shoe  turned  down  at  heel, 
and  the  other  was  of  quite  an  elegant  velvet,  though  of  a 
shape  somewhat  wider  than  is  elegant  .  u  human  foot. 
He  had  a  long  black  coat  opening  downward  from  a 
single  button  fastened  at  the  neck ;  and  on  his  head  a 
clo,,a  filing  cotton  nightcap  coming  down  cosily  about  two 
good  thick  cheeks  and  tied  below  his  chin. 

The  face  for  all  Miis  body  was  plain,  but  kindly-look- 
ing; the  eyes  being  narrow,  the  nose  longish  and  thick, 
and  the  mouth  large ;  the  upper  lip  appearing  to  be  made 
of  a  single  piece,  and  the  lower  oi^  looking  as  if  it  were 
both  strong  and  active. 

The  chin  in  which  the  face  was  finished,  was  a  thick, 
round  one,  which  underneath  had  a  great  swelling,  like  a 
capacious  receptacle  in  which  for  years  had  been  accu- 
mulating the  drippings  of  a  well-served  mouth.  His 
forehead—now  partly  covered  by  the  nightcap,— if  not 
remarkably  high,  had  an  open,  honest  breadth. 

"Take  a  chair !  Take  a  chair,  then,"  said  the  host, 
seating  himself. 

"Now,  Drother,"  said  the  nightcapped  head,  bowing 
with  dignify,  "  I  think  we've  made  a  beginning." 

"I've  hurried  you  too  much,  Father  O'Toole,"  said  the 
younger.  "  I  can  wait  here,  very  well,  until  you're  ready 
to  come  down." 

"  Amn't  I  dow7i,  thin,"  asked  Father  Terence,  con- 
clusively. "  Do  ye  mind  the  psalm  where  it  says  '  Prae- 
venerunt  oculi  mei,  dilucido,  uf.  meditarer  ? ''  " 

"Excuse  me.  Reverend  Father  Terence,"  said  a  third 
voice,  "  you  never  lay  the  harness  off " 


THK  NEW   PRIEST  AT  BAY-HARBOB.  jgg 

«Ah!  Father  Nicholas!"   said  the  elder,  expostulat- 
ing,  but  glancing  complacently  at  Father  Debree 

"  But,"  continued  the  new-comer,  "your  impatience 
o  obey  the  call  of  duty  has  prevented  your  taking  time 
to  make  your  toilet.  Allow  me  to  take  your  pi:ce,  as 
^Y  as  I  ran,  m  entertaining  my  old  neighbor  and  friend, 
M'hde  you  allow  your.elf  a  little  of  that  time  which 
you  may  reasonably  bestow  even  upon  so  insignificant 
an  object  as  dress."  * 

Father  Terence  had  evidently  not  bestowed  a  thouc^ht 
upon  so  ms.gnificant  a  Ihing ;  and  glancing  downwardsrat 
he  "harness  wh.ch  he  had  not  laid  off,"  hastily  gathe  ed 
he  sk.rts  of  his  black  garments  over  his  kneel,  and  get- 
ting up,  made  his  retreat  with  a  convenient,  if  somewhat 
mrlevant,  clearing  of  his  throat,  and  a  bow  in  which 
dignity  bore  up  bi-avely  against  discomposure. 

Father  Nicholas  was  not  liable  to  censure  on  the  score 
of  hanug  neglected  his  dress;  for  notning  could  impress 
one  with  a  sense  of  thoroughness,  more  perfectly  than  his 
whole  personal  appearance;  blaok,_somewhat  glossy - 

nZtTT '"" ''  '"'^^^^  ^^"^''-^^^  '^oJl 

-dde  by  Ins  two  white  hands,  (of  which  one  glistened 
with  a  s,gnet-rmg,)  and  relieved  above  by  the  pale,  ^  el- 
lomsh  face,  with  its  high  forehead,  and  dark,  shining  ^ye 
a.d  the  emphatic,  determined  mouth.  Above  the  face' 
agam,  it  was  glossy,  wavy,  black  hair,  cut  short,  though' 
no  tonsure  was  apparent.  ^ 

As  Father  Debree  made  no  motion,  and  gave  no  sign 
of  noticing  his  presence,  he  addressed  him,  in  a  courSy 
man'nr      "'  '^"'"^^"'"^  ^'"^'^^^  *«  too  great  warmth  of 

''I'm  so.Ty  to  have  seen  so  little  of  you.-I'm  so  busy 
tliat  I  can  t  always  get  to  mass  even." 


200 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


So 


saying,  he  held  out  a  friendly  hand,  which  the  othei 


took,  without  any  show  of  friendhness 


Father  Nicholas  spoke  a<»ai 


n  :  "  I  believe  they  found 


no  t^vidence,  whatever,  against  the  Urstons  in  the  exam- 

inaiion,  yesterday  morning?" 

At  this  point,  solid  steps  were  heard,  bringing  Father 

Terence  back.     "  '  lioiimn  est  viro,  cum  portaverit  jugum 

nb  adolescentia  sun,' "  he  wns  saving. 

*'  What  a  treasure  to  have  a  mind  so  stored  with  sacred 
precepts !  "  exclaimed  Father  Nicholas ;  «  dulciora  super 
met  etfavum."  Then  saying  to  his  companion,  «  Excuse 
my  want  of  hospitality ;  I  must  see  to  your  horse ; "  he 
hurried  out  of  the  room  by  a  different  door  from  that 
which  Father  O'Toole  was  approaching. 

The  priest  from  Peterport  hurried  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, as  if  to  prevent  him;  so  that  when  the  worthy 
elder  reentered  the  room,  he  found  it  forsaken,  and  only 
heai-d  retreating  steps. 

"The  present  company  seems  to  be  mostly  absent," 
said  he. 

Father  Debree  soon  came  back  and  apologized. 

"Ah!"  said  Father  O'Toole,  "I  know  meself  it's 
necessary  looking  to  thim  now  and  again  ;  sure,  hadn't  I 
one  meself  then  for  manny  years,  named  Pishgrew,*  from 
some  B'rench  General,  or  other;  (the  boys  called  um 
<  Pitchgrove,'  from  a  trick  he  had  of  getting  tar  on  um, 
however  it  was  he  got  it,)  and  when  he  wasn't  looked  to, 
quare  things  he  did.  He  gnawed  his  own  tail  and  mane 
off,  many's  the  time,  when  my  eye  was  off  him ;  the 
children  all   said  the  one  thing  of  him ;  and  sure,  they'd 

*  There  was  a  French  General  Pichegra  famous  in  the  annies  of 
the  Republic. 


.1 


THE  NEW   PRIEST  AT  BAY-HARBOR.  201 

the  best  chance  to  know,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  mostly, 
but  to  be  watchin  him  at  his  pasture." 

Mr.  Debree  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  simple 
notion  of  the  necessity  of  looking  after  a  valuable  horse 
who  had  come  some  miles  at  a  good  rate,  lest  he  should 
eat  off  his  own  tail  and  mane. 

"  Ye'll  stay  the  day,  then,  like  a  man  of  good  sense, 
won't  ye,"  asked  Father  O'Toole.— "It's  not  that  much 
time  I  give  upon  the  externals ;—' turbamur—'  what's 
this  it  h?~'erga—plurima;'  'one  thing  's  necessary;' 
but  I'm  more  conforming  and  shutable,  now." 

Indeed  he  was ;  dressed  in  a  long,  black  cassock  of 
camlet,  or  something  like  it;  black  stock  and  black  stock- 
ings,  and  shoes  with  small  silver,  (at  least  shining) 
buckles  on  them  ;  and  irongray  locks  behind ;  respectabfe, 
if  not  venerable,  he  looked  like  one  of  the  Irish  Roman 
priests  of  the  old  time,  who  had  been  twenty  or  thirty 
years  in  the  island. 

'I  We'll  be   having  breakfast  shortly,"  said  the  host; 

"it's  not  good  talking  too  much  with  only  air  in  your 

belly  ;  and  after  breakfast  we'll  hear  how  ye're  getting  on  " 

The  old  gentleman  went  to  see  after  breakfast,  or  some 

other  matter,  and  Mr.  Debree  was  left  to  himself. 

Nothing  appeared  in  the  room  to  occupy  the  attention 
of  the  visitor  but  two  remains  of  books,  one  painting  on 
the  wall,  and  a  box  upon  the  mantel-shelf.  The  furni- 
ture was  scanty,  not  quite  clean,  and  many  of  the  pieces 
occupied  with  things  of  many  kinds.  Of  the  books  upon 
the  table,  one  was  a  breviary  without  covers,  and  almost 
without  contents ;  for  a  great  deal  of  what  had  formerly 
been  paper  was  now  nothing.  Of  what  remained  in  type 
and  tissue,  a  greasy  flaccidness  had  taken  hold.  The  other 
was  an  odd  volume  of  Mr.  Alban  Butler's  Lives  of  Saints, 


202 


THK   NEW  PKIEST. 


of  which  it  would  be  hard  to  say  why  it  had  lost  one 
cover ;  for  the  inside  showed  no  such  marks  of  use  and 
wear  us  would  account  for  it.  Some  places  had  been  fin- 
gered, and  here  a  scrap  of  a  tobacco  wrapping-paper, 
and  there  some  grains  of  snufF,  showed  that,  by  accident 
or  of  set  purpose,  its  bulk  of  pages  had  been  sometimes 
broken. 

Father  Terence  soon  called  him  to  breakfast,  and  said, 
"He  takes  his  meals  by  himself,  mostly," 

As  may  be  supposed,  no  duty  of  hospitality  was  omit- 
ted by  the  kindly  Irishman,  and  a  good  example  was  set 
m  his  own  person  of  practice  in  eating. 

There  were  several  subjects  on  which  the  two  priests 
were  to  confer,  or  did  confer ;  but  Father  Debree  was 
still  occupied  with  the  loss  of  Skipper  George's  daughter, 
and  tha  suspicions  attaching  to  the  Urstons  and  to  the 
nuns  from  Ba} -Harbor.  The  old  priest  took  a  kindly 
interest. 

"  Indade,  it's  a  sad  thing  for  a  father  to  lose  his  child  I " 
said  he. 

"  But  he's  a  Protestant,"  said  Father  Debree. 

"And  hasn't  a  Protectant  feelings  ?  Ay,  and  some  o' 
them  got  the  best  o'  feelings.  I'm  sure  yerself 's  no  call 
to  say  against  it. — It's  in  religion  they  make  the  great 
mistake." 

"  I'm  not  inclined  to  deny  it,  Father  Terence,  and  this 
is  a  noble  man,  this  Skipper  George  ;  but " 

"  And  who's  Skipper  George,  then  ?  Is  he  the  father  ? 
Oh !  sure  there's  good  Protestants ;  and  it's  hard  to  lose 
a  child  that  way,  and  not  to  know  is  she  dead  or  living,  or 
torn  to  pieces,  or  what ! " 

"  Not  every  one  has  such  good  feeling,  when  the  father's 
a  Protestant." 


THE  NEW  PfilEST  AT   BAY-HARBOR.  203 

«  But  the  Urstons  are  not  that  way,  at  all ;  and  James 
was  a  good  boy  ! "  answered  the  old  priest. 

think ?/''"^'r^''""^^  "  deplorable  one  !  I  couldn't 
thmk  they  ve  taken  her;  but  she  was  last  seen  near  their 
house  probably;  and  somethings  belonging  to  her  have 

F«'^"^^"''   ^^"^""'^  ^^^   '^^  ^''"''^°»  «^  them?"  asked 
leather  lerence. 

"Mrs.  Calloian   confesses   to   Father   Crarapton.      I 

.h"'"^^'  r;'''r'^  '^"  ""^^   P"^''^'  ^'^^  g'-^^t  feeling; 
then  shook  h.s  head  and  added,  "  I  hadn't  the  charge  of 

him  th.s  while  back.-I  mind  hearing  this  girl  waslead- 
ing  him  away,  but  I  can't  think  it  of  him  " 

"I  don't  believe  she  has  done  it.  Father  Terence,  from 
alMhat  I  can  hear.     He  may  have  fallen  in  love  with 

pri'est?  "  "''  ""''  '''''  '''  '•"'  ^"^  ^^™  ^«-»  ^o  be  a 
"  There  were  some  nuns,  so  it  seems,  at  Mr.  Urston's 
house  that  evening,"  said  Father  Debree,  returning  to  the 
former  subject ;  "  and  it's  said  that  they  were  seen  carry- 
mg  somy  one  away."  ^ 

"  It's  little  I  know  about  the  holy  women,"  Father  Te- 
rcnce  answered  "more  than  if  they  were  the  Eleven 
Thousand  Vnj.ns  itself;  but  what  would  they  do  the 
like  for  ?  And  would  an^  one  belonging  to  this,  whatever 
way  ,t  was  with  the  girl,  without  me  Lowing  it.^ 
wdl  ye  see  to  the  boy  James  ?  And  couldn't  ye  bring 
him  to  speak  with  me?"  ^         ^ 

Father  Terence  forgot  and  neglected  his  own  break- 


204 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


fast,  tliougli  Ih!  did  not  forget  his  hoapltality.  He  seemed 
almost  impatient  to  have  his  commission  undertaken  im- 
mediately. 

Kis  gue^t,  too,  appeared  to  have  little  appetite  ;  but  he 
lingered  after  they  left  the  table,  and  presently  said  :— 

"  There  was  another  subject.  Father  Terence  " 

'  Come  and  see  me  again,  do  !  and  we'll  talk  of  every 
thing ;  and  don't  forget  the  lad.  I'd  not  let  you  go  at  all, 
only  for  that." 

The  young  priest  accordingly  took  his  leave. 


•■«*»».. 


i 


<& 


A   CALL  AT  A   NUNNERY. 


205 


1  I 

lit  I 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A    CALL   AT   A   NUNNiiRT. 

DJOINING  the  priest's  house  in  Bay-Harbor 
was  a  s„,al    buJding  of  later  constn.cion,  ea- 

of  th.s  bu,Id,„g,  a  pretty  loud  and  continuous  rapping 
was  heard  earlyin  ,he  forenoon  of  Tuesday,  the  nil" 
teen^day  of  August,  and  again  and  again, 
a  m7e  t'T"  1T^'' »"=»  S"  '»'  '"^  "P  the  neighbors 
La  n„r     .1"       '  "■"  """•<=■•  ''"<^-     '«"e^»  they've 
f^cXVvi-tr"'''™''^''"'"-^'''''™^'^^^ 
_"  Wall,  look  a-  here,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,  as  he  found  him- 
self alone  w,th  himself,  on  the  outsid;  turning  round  To 
survey  the  building  and  neighborhood. 

"  Have  you  business  with  some  one  here  ?  "  asked  a 
votce  that  made  him  start  a  little;  and  he  saw  Father 
Nicholas,  such  as  we  have  described  him 

"Wall!  or  Gem  Isrii  Putnam's  wolf  was  a  fool  to 
th.s  •  sa,d  Mr.  Bangs,  in  a  low  voice,  by  way  o  r  i^! 
statmg  h.mself  in  his  self-possession;  then  aloud  /oh, 

Holy  Father  guess  '11  do.  Wall,  I  did  have  a  little 
busmesswith'em  V  «ntn«„f>  a         "  "'•"e  a  utile 

™™i     .•  '  °'  ™-    Seems  to  be  c'nsid'ble 

rural  retu-ement  'bout  this-nunnery,  s'pose  'tis-     Thi! 
country  don't  seem  t'  have  much  na^h'f  gift  '"Lsm'  ^et 


206 


THE  NEW   PRIKST. 


—don't  seem  't  take  to  it— Bangs,  my  name  is.     Come 
Tm  th'  States." 

*'  And  may  I  ask,  Mr.  Bangs,  what  particular  business 
you  had  here  ?  " 

"  Certin ;  's  no  harm  'n  askin',  ye  know.  'T's  the 
motto  T  the  R'public,  ye  may  say." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know,  then,"  said  Father  Nicholas, 
drily. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  'f  'twould  'ford  ye  some  pleasure ; 
though  guess  ye'll  be  ruther  'stonished,  f  r  a  spell.  Come 
to  look  int'  this  r'ligion-business  a  mite.  Don't  mind 
tellin'  1/ou." 

Father  Nicholas  smiled :  «  Oh !  Mr.  Bangs,  from  Pe- 
terport,  the  American  merchant !  "  said  he.    "  Your  nation 

is   becoming   distinguished ,"    ("they're    'bout    it,    I 

b'lieve,"  inserted  Mr.  Bangs,  by  way  of  commentary,) 
"  for  intelligence  and  enterprise."  ("  The'  is  such  a  thing's 
bein'  cute,  certin,"  said  Mj-.  Bangs.)  "  So  you  wanted 
to  make  some  religious  inquiries  ?  " 

"Wall,  'smuch  that  's  any  thing,  'guess,"  said  Mr. 
Bangs,  who,  as  he  concentrated  his  force  upon  his  words, 
knitted  his  brows,  and  looked  a  little  to  the  left  of  the 
person  he  was  addressing,  as  we  are  taught  to  look  at 
bright  bodies  in  the  sky.  "  D'ye  s'pose  they'd  gi'  me  a 
chance  to  git  conviction  ?  'T  any  rate,  t'  look  into  it  and 
join, 'f  I  felt  like  it?" 

"  Oil !  yes,"  answered  the  priest,  "  any  body  can  have 
Ji  chance.     There's  a  way  .vide  enough." 

"  Yes.— Bible  says, '  Wide  is  the  way,' "  said  Mr.  Bangs. 
*'  Ye  see  the's  all  my  folks  are  Protestants,  'n'  al'a's  were, 
fur's  I  know,  f 'm  th'  beginning  of  the  Bangses,  and  stood 
p'tty  high,  too,— that  is,  some  of  'em  did.  Why,  my  great 
uncle  was  Deacon  Parsimmon  Tarbox— lived  at  Braia- 


A  CALL  AT   A  NUNNERY. 


207 


tree,  n  Massachusetts.  'Tain't  likely  you  ever  heard  of 
lam;  but  1  dono  what  'd  come  over  'em  to  hear  't  one  o' 
the  family  'd  turned  Catholic." 

"  But  let  me  ask,  If  you  wanted  to  see  me,  how  came 
you  to  call  here  ?  " 

Wall,  sir.     I  didn't  exactly  come  to  see  you.    I  come 
t'  see  some  o'  the  folks  that  keep  this  'stablishmcnt." 

"  Wiiat  sort  of  estiiblishment  do  you  take  tliis  to  be 
then  ? "  > 

"  Why,  a  nunnery,  'r  a  convent,  or  somethin'  o'  that 
sort." 

"  But  you  don't  expect  to  take  the  veil,  do  you  ?  "  in- 
quired  the  priest,  with  an  unqualified  smile. 

"  No.  'T's  on'y  women-folks  't  wear  veils ;  but  you 
see,  it's  these  nunneries,  and  mummeries,  'n'  what  not," 
(Mr.  Bangs  looked  very  innocent,)  "are  gen'lly  counted 
about  the  hardest  thing  in  the  Catholic  religion  ;  and  my 
way  is,  al'a's  to  go  chock  up  to  head  quarters,  when  I 
want  to  know  about  a  thing,  and  so,  thinks  I,  I'll  jes'  go 
and  see  for  myself." 

"Did  you  expect  to  walk  right  in  and  look  about  for 
yourself.?" 

"  Wall,  I  thought,  you  know,  'taint  Hke  one  o'  those 
Eastern  hairims,  where  they  wun't  let  a  fellah  go  in,  any 
way,  'cause  the  women  all  belong  to  'em,  and  they're 
afraid  to  nave  'em  ketched  or  snapped  up.  Says  I,  This 
is  a  Christian  institootion,  all  open  and  above  board." 

"  Yes,  you're  right,  to  a  proper  extent.     There  is  no 
concealment  but  what  is  necessary  for  the  object;  which 
IS,  retirement  from  the  world  in  peace  and  safety.     Mei,  - 
of  course,  are  excluded,  because  this  is  a  house  of  holy 
women." 

"  Cer-tin.     'Stablishment  I'k'  this  'd  make  a  church  of 


208 


TIIK   Ni:W   PIMKST. 


itself,  and  might  have  meet'm', —mass,  ye  know,— all  t' 
themselves,  and  a  priest  o'  their  own.  Why,  't  the  Lu- 
natic 'Sylum  up  to  Worcester,  they  have  a  preacher,  and 
keep  the  n..  •_  ^uJ  women — wall,  keep  'em  separate,  ;iny 
way.  Say  here's  where  the  femnlcM  sit,  all  'long  here," 
(waving  liis  hand,)  "then  here's  what  ye  may  call  a  broad 
ai.>l(! ." 

"  May  I  inquire  what  particular  object  you  had  in  view 
in  seeing  the  head  of  the  family  here  ?  "  a^ked  the  Priest. 
"  Wh'  ye  »know  th'  Protestants  'r'  pleggy  hard  upon 
convents ;— clappin'  gals  up,  an'  keepin'  'em  'n  prison,  'n' 
dungeon,  'n'  what  not.     When  the's  so  much  'f  it,  ye 
want  t'  hear  t'other  side.     Over  here  to  Peterport,  th' 
wanted  me  to  go  'n'  testify  't  I  saw  the  nuns  acarr'in'  off 
that  ga!,  (down  the  rocks,  there  ;)  but  I  come  away  'n' 
left  'em,  s'pose  ye  heard ;— 's  such  a  thing 's  goin'  too  far. 
Sometimes  they  want  to  be  carried  off;  'n'  sometimes  the' 
aint  'ny  carr'in'  off  'bout  it.     Thinks  I,  's  nothin'  'gainst 
my  goin'  'n'  callin'  'n  a  fash'nable  way,  'n'  takin'  a  look. 
The's  ben  some  pleggy  smart  men  'n  the  Catholic  church  ; 
(there's  Cardinal  Wolsey ;)  and  these  Protestants,  s'pose 
you'll  admit,  are  a  little  the  slowest  race  .'—kith,  kin,  kit, 
—the  whole  boodle  of  'era.     Their  wits  ain't  cute  'nough 
to  find  the  holes  in  theii-  heads,  /  b'lieve.     Why,  there's 
their  Magistrate  can't  stand  it :  shouldn't  wonder  'f  he 
turned." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Bangs  waited  for  his  companion,  who 
had  been  apparently  rather  entertained  by  the  American's 
matter  and  manner. 

"  You  saw  Sister  Theresa,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  'n'  found  her  quite  the  lady.  Don't  seem 
t'  come  out,  'xactly,  I'k'  some— owin'  to  bringin'  up,  likely 
—but  what  ye'd  call  a  fine  woir  an.     Now,  'n  th'  States, 


A  CALL  AT  A  NUNNKRY 

ye  walk  right  up  to  a  public  insftootion,  'n'  iUey  u.vue  ye 
in,  and  show  yo.  th«  whole  concern,  'n'  ask  /e  to  write 

VVell  Mr.  IJangs,  it's  unusual,  hut  your  case  is  peculiar 

impai  tml.     Perhaps  we  might  mak(,.  an  exception  in  your 
favor      I  suppose  the  soonor  the  better,  in  your  opinion 
For  mstruetion  I  shall  introduce  you  to  the  Ve^  7"' 
erend  Father  O'TooIe,  by-and-by."  ^ 

goel!^''"'  ''''  '^'''"  '  ^'^™"  ^^^""''^  y'  «^«^  ^^^^  it) 

•  Now'8  the  day,  m'  now's  the  hour: 
See  the  front  o'  Babel  tower: 
See  approach  prond  Satan's  power: 
Sin  an'  Slavery.'  •» 

"  I's  allVs  brought  up  f  know  the  value  'f  time  V  do 
a  th,„g  while  ye-re  about  it.  IS  brought  „„  7h  , "  t 
Boston  ye  k„ow,_e,„.e  by,  out  to  Needhan,  t  at  if 
whero  they  had  the  Gen'l  T™i„i„.,  („,ed  to,  ■„  A  «' 
almyer,  't  any  rate.)  Never  had  f  teil  me, '  L  to  ver 
aunt,  ye  sluggard.'  Wall,  folks  alVs  hed  he  eredit'^o- 
bnngm'  up  p'ty  fair  specimens,  about  Boston,  you  know 

Bostrs  lel  .  7""'="-"'"'^  S-''W    know   al-  about 
Canady,  ( ts  all  same  thing,  s'pose,)  they  used  to  call  all 
he  people  m  the  States  '  Bostonese,' or  'Bostonase'e 
whatever  the  French  word  is.     Wall,  the   brin.h,\: 
bou       „  .„„  ,  p,  „  ^^^^^_     ^,^  ^  _^^_^  .       up 

some  of  em,  but,  's  I's  sayin',  about  this  Peter,K,rt   's 

with  ,t-for  such  a  potterin'  and  pokin'  about  their  busi- 
«es,J_never  saw.  Yankee  Doodle  's  our  naytional  too", 


210 


THK  NEW  PRIEST. 


yc  know  ;  and  there  aint  'ny  atop  about  tlmt ;  when  our 
Yankees  set  out  with  that,  something's  got  to  go,  ship- 
shape or  shop-shape,  'r  some  way.  A  fcUah  must  hev  a 
phigiiy  sight  of  stick  in  his  shoes  that  don't  go  ahead  to 
that  toone.  'Twa'n't  so  much  the  fault  o'  the  IJritish,  's 
'twas  beeos  nothin'  can  stand  before  our  Yankees  when 
they're  hitched  on  to  it  and  that  toone  agoin'.     Wli'  't 

Bunker that's  'bout  wars  and  batth's,  thoiigii ;  don't 

concern  us,  now ;  but  1  dono's  ye  ever  noticed  what  a  sol- 
emn i).salm-toone  that  'II  make,  only  put  it  slow  enough. 
Faw  !  "  he  sang,  setting  his  head  straight  on  his  neck  and 
swelling  out  his  throat,  as  if  begiiming  an  illustration  of 
the  adaptedness  of  his  favorite  air. 

The  Priest  smited.  "  We'll  try,  then,"  said  he. 
So  saying,  he  turned  to  the  door  on  which  the  knuckles 
of  the  American  had  been  playing  so  persistently,  and 
knocking  three  times,  and  ringing  a  bell,  gave  the  sen- 
tence, "  Ave,  Maria  Sanctissima !  "  in  a  clear  voice.  An 
answer  was  made  by  a  woman,  "  Sine  labe  concepta," 
and  then  the  entrance  was  made  open  to  them. 

Father  Nicholas  went  forward  into  the  nearest  room, 
Mr.  Bangs  following,  and  the  sister  being  in  the  rear. 
He  then  turned  square  about  and  said :  "  Sister  Agnes, 
this  visitor  from  the  United  States  of  America  is  making 
inquiries  into  the  truths  of  our  Most  Holy  Faith.  He  has 
a  desire  to  ascertain  whether  our  religious  houses  are 
j>risons.  Have  the  kindness  to  say  to  Sister  Theresa, 
that,  with  her  leave,  we  are  come  to  see  this  smmU'  liitle 
house." 

—"What's  your  will.  Father  Nicholas?"  asked  Sister 
Theresa,  meekly,  as  she  entered. 

"  Mr.  Bangs,  Ma'am,— you  recollect,"  said  the  Ameri- 
win.  recalling  her  memory  to  himself. 


A   CAfJ.    AT   A   NUNNERY', 


211 


I  only  wi.h  to  aak  permission,  in  favor  of  Mr.  Umn 
here,  to  go  tl.roug.  your  little  e.tublisl..«ent  i„  my  com^ 
PH"y.  It  .s  not  for  the  gru,in..ation  of  idle  curiosity,  but 
for  important  reasons,  which  I  will  explain. hereafter" 
-d  I'uther  Nicholas,  looking  .signiiieantly,  less  ^t  S  ter 
Iheresa  than  at  the  visitor,  who  answered,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  mtelligence,  "  Jes'  so." 

"Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  direct  me?"  asked 
she,  m  return.  " 

"We  will  follow  you,  if  you  please." 
f  you  11  let  me  take  the  guide's  office,"  said  the  Priest 

dii^jr-^^-'^"^^'^^^'^^-^-  ^--^tX 

"  CertiiK  This  paintin'  ain't  a  eommon  worl,  by  con- 
sul b,e.  One  o'  the  best  things  o'  ./.«,  .ort,  I  'most'e'r 
savv.  in  suynig  tins,  the  American  put  himself  at  a 
distance  „.clined  his  head  a  little  to  one  side,  and  applied 
h  s  hand  made  mto  a  tube,  to  his  right  eye,  closing  the 
other.        Seems  to  freshen  on  the  gaze !  don't  it ' " 

"This  room,  with  this  sort  of  hole  in  the  door,"  con- 
tmued  Im  reverend  guide,  to  the  tasteful  American,  not 
too  abruptly,  opening  the  door  communicating  with  the 
room  m  the  rear,  through  which  the  nun  had  c;me  to  the 
former  mterv.ew  with  her  curious  visitor,  "is  a  sort  of 
back-parlor,  having  this  opening  to  allow  the  ladies  to 
eommumcate,  If  necessary,  with  persons  here,  without  ex! 
posmg  themsdves  to  the  observation  of  strangers  or  other.  " 

Jes- so     Good 'll'k' one  o' the  peek-holes  at  Bunkum's 
Grand  Universal  Skepticon,  dow^n   to   Boston 
thmg  o'  ihe  kind  in  the  world 


greatest 


they  say.     I  don't  s'pooe 


212 


THK   NKVV   I'RIKST. 


Sister  Thoresy  ever  had  much  notion  for  those  things ; 
but  you're  aware  there  are  great, — wall, — " 

"  Here  we  are  at  the  last  room  on  this  floor.  This 
little  place  i?  a  private  retiring  room,  foi  i)rn.yer,"  inter- 
rupted the  Priest,  gently  and  easily,— Mr.  Bangs  accept- 
ing the  interruption  r.s  quite  regular. 

"  Don't  seem  to  make  nuich  provision  f  the  wants  o' 
the  flesh,  any  how,"  said  the  latter.  "  First  house,  pretty 
much,  's  I  may  say,  I  ever  see  'thout  a  kitchin.  Wall,  I 
didn't  s'pose  'twas  a  fact,  but  they  used  to  say,  you  know, 
that  nuns  lived  p'tty  much  like  Injuns,  on  parched  corn, 
and  so  on." 

"  The  Sisters'  simple  cooking  is  done  in  the  adjoining 
house,  belonging  to  the  Reverend  Father  O'Toole,"  ex° 
plained  his  guide,  «  for  the  Mission,  in  this  place." 

"Very  solemn,  cer-tin :— that  fixin'  there,  I  mean." 
Father  Nicholas  and  the  lady,  standing  silent,  after  hav- 
ing crossed  themselves  at  sight  of  the  crucifix  and  one  of 
the  usual  representations  of  a  woman  with  a  child,  before 
which  "  flxin',"  as  it  had  ju*.  been  called,  stood,  on  a  little 
bracket-shelf,  a  metal  candlestick  and  candle  and  a  few 
very  artificial  flowers,  with  one  real  moss  rose  and  three 
real  rose  leaves  among  them. 

"  I  ain't  quite  used  to  doin'  that,  yet,"  continued  the 
visitor,  referring  to  the  crossing,  and  gesticulating  after 
some  faL^iion  of  his  own.  While  he  was  making  his 
demonstration,  however,  there  was  some  sound  of  a  cough 
or  sneeze  from  more  than  one  of  the  neighboring  females, 
Avhoever  or  wherever  they  were. 

'•  Puj>ils,  or  servants,"  said  the  priestly  conductor,  look- 
ing with  something  like  asperity  towards  the  Sister;  then, 
turning  the  end  of  the  sentence  to  Mr.  Bangs,  "  We  shall 
soon  rim  through  our  narrow  limits ;  and  you  will  get  no 


n 


Pi 


0      t 


■  ■  J 

'     i 


A  CALL  AT  A  NUNNERY.  213 

very  exalted  notion  of  the  importance  of  our  meek  little 
community,"  continued  Father  Nicholas,  "  Our  next  steps 
go  up  these  narrow  stairs." 

"  Guess  thV  ain't  much  goiii'  down,  f 'r  't  seems  folks 
gen'lly,  here,  think  the  land  turns  to  water,  'little  way 
down  No  need  o'  ra.sin'  a  cry  o'  dungeons,  and  lockups, 
and  what-nots,  under  ground.  Why,  hero's  a  little  door- 
fact,-n:o,„'  down  to  some  root-collar,  likely ;— '  should  like 
to  see  a  cellar  under  ground,  f '  once,  f '  variety,  in  this 
country." 

"  You  shall  be  gratified,  certainly,"  said  his  ecclesiasti- 
cal  guide,  "as  far  as  may  be ;  but  I  fancy  that  not  much 
IS  to  be  seen,  unless  the  darkness  is  visible." 

Tho  American  putting  his  eyes  and  nose  down  towards 
the  openmg,  remarked  upon  it,  very  summarily,  "  why, 
't  es  "s  dark  's  a  pitch-pipe,'  's  the  boy  said,  and  smells' 
strong  'f  old  straw  or  hay ;  but  't's  a  comfort  to  see  it,  any 
how.    You  see,  comin'  right  f 'm  the  States,  where  a  man 
d  jest  'bout  's  soon  think  of  hevin'  no  pockit  in  his  pants, 
as  not  hevin'  a  cellar  to  his  house,  it  looks  strange  to  me 
not  seein'  one,  all  the  time  I've  ben  here :  one  o'  your 
real  old-fashioned  ones  comes  in  well.     What  curis  ^ort 
o'  partitions  they  have  here,  compared  'th  real  walls  o' 
lath  and  plaster,"  he  concluded,  knocking,  at  the  saine 
tune,  with  the  knuckle  of  one  finger,  on  the  thin  deal  that 
separated  one  room  from  anf)ther. 

"Tliese  are  slight  houses,  certainly;  but  religious  per- 
sons,  of  all  people,  may  bo  content  to  have  what  will  last 
their  day:  ^ Mn,  enirn,  habemus  Mc—hv  we  have  not 
here  a  lasting  city,  but  we  seek  one  that  is  to  come.'  " 

"  Certin,"  said  Mr.  Bangs.    «  We  ought  to,  any  how." 
^    The  visiting  procession  passed  now  up  the  little  creak- 
ing stairs,  the  Priest  leading;  Mr.  Bangs  accompanying 


I 


I  !|t 


214 


THE   NEW   PRIEST. 


him  by  going  up  two  stairs  at  a  time,  and  then,  poising 
himself  for  a  moment,  so  as  to  keep  the  same  relative  dis- 
tance between  himself  and  the  rest  of  the  party,  before 
and  behind ;  the  females  bringing  up  the  rear. 

«  This  is  '  recreation-hour,'  is  it  not.  Sister  Theresa  ?  " 
inquired  the  guide,  and,  receiving  an  answer  in  the 
affirmative,  added,  "I  shall  have  great  pleasure,  Mr. 
Bangs,  in  giving  you  an  opportunity  of  seeing  every 
member  of  the  household,  without  any  exception ;  the  list 
is  not  as  long  as  the  roll  of  Xerxes'  army,  or  the  immortal 
Washington's.  We  number  only  five,  all  told,  I  think  : 
one  sick.  Sisters  Theresa,  Agnes,  Frances,  Catharine, 
and  Bridget ;  two  professed,  as  we  call  them  ;  one  lay, 
one  novice,  one  postulant." 

"  Yes :  postulate  means  wanted,  or  as'd,  I  b'lieve ;  one 
't  you  want  to  have  join,  I  guess." 

"  Reverse  it,  and  you  have  the  meaning  of  postulant, 
exactly ;  one  that  asks  to  be  admitted." 

"  Oh,  postidant !  I's  thi'ikin'  of  postu/a^e.  I  got  that 
out  of  an  old  book  o'  my  father's,  time  I  was  keepin'  com- 
pany o'  Casty— wall,  a  good  while  ago." 

"  This  room  is  what  you'll  understand,  at  once,"  open- 
ing one  to  the  left,  of  some  ten  feet  by  twelve,  with  a 
recess  at  the  further  end,  about  five  feet  deep  and  six  feet 
wide,  railed  across  even  with  what  was  left  of  the  wall ; 
which  latter  was  occupied  entirely  by  a  closed  door  on 
one  side,  and  an  open  one  on  the  other,  showing  a  little 
closet  opening  into  the  recess  before  spoken  of,  with  i 
screen  or  paling. 

"  That,  you  see,  is  an  altar ;  these  pictures  around  the 
room  are  what  we  call  stations,  used  for  marking  difl^erent 
places  to  kneel  and  pray." 

"I   soe!"    said    the   visitor;    "  solemn-lookin'    place, 


*   ^ 


A   CALL  AT  A  NUNNERY.  2I0 

fact;"  then  turning  away,  as  before,  with  a  bow,  he  said 
to  Father  Nicholas,  « this  house  stows  more,  atop,  'n  down 
blow,  s  they  used  to  tell  o'  the  York  Dutchman  and  In. 
hat. 

"You've  an  excellent  eye,  sir.  This  room  is  taken  out 
of  the  next  house  that  T  spoke  of.  If  you'd  fancy  if,  you 
shall  see  the  whoM  arrangement  of  that,  also,  by  and  by. 
All  I  here  is  Sister  Frances  ;  and  there  is  Sister  Ursula." 
(They  all,  except  Sister  Theresa,  stood  with  thoir  backs 
turned  toward  the  visitors.)  "  You  see  all  of  the  family 
but  one.  These  rooms  are  dormitories,"  opening  one  of 
the  doors  which  led  into  a  plain  room,  (like  those  with 
which  the  reader  is  familiar  enough,)  containing  several 
bare  and  hard-looking  beds,  and  little  furniture  of  any 
kind  beside.  "^ 

Mr  Bangs  cast  a  sharp  side-glance  into  this  room,  and 
then  looked  forward  for  further  progress.     Before  the 
next  door  were  standing  several  of  the  Sisters  ;  Sister 
Iheresa  explaining  that  this  was  the  chamber  of  the  sick. 
"  Please  to  let  our  visitor  see  the  inside  of  the  sick- 
room, „i  which  the  gentle  hands  of  our  religious  smooth 
the  pillow  of  the  afflicted,  as  a  sister.   *  l/niversum  stratum 
ejus  versastt-thoa  'hast  turned  his  whole  couch  in  his 
sickness.'     Is  the  sufferer  awake?"  the  Priest  asked,  in 
a  tender  and  sympathizing  tone. 

_  "No,  Father  Nicholas,  she  has  been  sleeping  for  some 
time,  quite  heavily,"  answered,  in  a  whisper,  the  nun  who 
held  the  door,  and  who,  as  she  spoke,  threw  it  open  and 
drew  herself  aside,  as  did  Sister  Theresa,  who  had  been 
standmg  beside  her  in  front  of  the  entrance. 

The  American,  not  changing  either  his  place  or  posture 
except  to  bend  his  head,  with  unwonted  reverence,  down ' 
ward,  stood,  demisso  ore,  with  a  subdued  look,  bent  first 


216 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


towards  the  bed  on  which  the  mere  outHne  of  the  sick 
one  could  be  seen,  and  then  gradually  turned  to  other 
objects  in  the  room.  There  was  such  perfect  silence,  that 
the  heavj.  regular  breathing  was  distinctly  heard  from 
within.  Tiie  change  which  had  passed  upon  the  visitor, 
Jn  presence  of  this  scene  of  human  need  and  helnlessnes^ 
was  very  striking,  as  he  stood  thus  subdued, 'with  his 
hands  before  him,  one  holding  his  hat,  and  the  other  th.- 
opposite  wrist.  He  was  as  still  as  if  his  very  breathin- 
were  too  loud.  ° 

Bui  it  would  be  too  much  to  look  for  very  long  stand- 
mg-stiU  or  silence  from  him ;  and  soon,  indeed,  abruptly 
1  liming  to  his  reverend  guide,  he  spoke  in  an  awkward 
whisper,  considerably  above  his  breath,  which  he  had  kept 
down  so  carefully,  as  follows  :— - 

"  Dono's  ye  ever  noticed  it,  about  sickness—"  when,— 
precipitated  by  an  ungainly  gesture  accompanying  his 
words,— a  shower  of  things  out  of  his  hat  dispersed  them- 
selves within  the  sickroom  and  about  the  floor  on  which 
the  company  stood.    The  accident  affected  every  member 
of  the  party,  even  those  whose  backs  were  turned.    These 
last  rustled  a  little  ;  and   a  sound  almost  like  a  giggle 
came  from  some  one  or  more,  the  most  impulsi^-e.    Silter 
Theresa  crossed  herself,  as  soon  as  she  recovered  from 
the  first  shock  of  this  rude  and  most  unnecessary  inde- 
corum.   The  Priest  at  first  came  near  to  smiling,  uninten- 
tionally; but  instantly  visited  the  unsanctified  misadven- 
ture  with  a  frown  that  gathennl  over  the  still  lingering 
smile,  like  a  dark  cloud  above  the  streak  of  sunset-sky! 
The  short  word  "  bah  !  "  escaped  his  lips. 

The  author  of  all  this  cinrnotion,— interrupted  in  his 
rt'ell-meant  speech,  glancing  round  the  company,  brushing 
up  one  .^ide  of  lii.  hair  over  the  bald,  and  saying,  «  Do 


S 

E 

a 
tj 


A   CALL  AT  A  NUNNERY.  217 

tell!  wall,  don't  stir,"  all  at  the  same  instant,  almost,  and 

afttT'";  '''  '^^'  '"^  ^^  -cover,- bvefor;ard 
after  the  most  remote  articles  of  las  scattered  property. 

In    om    this  he  made  little  more  noise  than  a  cat,  and 

lyr  ',  r    "  '"'^'''""^  '■"  '"'^  "^«^'«-^'  fallowing  a 

.    -  -0,1  to  one  .de  of  the  chamber  and  a  penknife^o 

e  other,  not  leavmg  behind  the  habit  of  his  nation,  even 

"    '"'  ""«^Pected  visit;  but  drawing  near  r.nd  casting 

a  glance,  m  passing,  at  a  colored  engraving  of  a  ^aint 

as  ver,  likel,  ,e  would  have  looked  i^  a  glal,  had  i     re 

been  one  m  the  place,  which  there  was  not. 

The  handkerchief  and  an  outlandish-looking  news- 
paper,  which  had  dropped  down  in  the  passage.;ay  and 
renamed  there,  lay  where  the,  had  fallen,  whL  he'came 
out,  and  then  resumed  their  former  place.  "Hope  ye 
wun't  thmk  hard  o'  my  hat,"  he  whispered,  loudl'  by 
-ay  of  reconciling  matters,  "  't  don't  gen'lly  act  like  that 
However,  b'heve  no  harm's  done.  Don't  let  me  keep 
you,  sn-,  awaitmg,  and  the  ladies." 

The  remainder  of  the  visit  was  soon  dispatched.  Father 
Nicholas  appearing  not  less  kind,  if  less  cordial  than  be- 
fore,  and  say.ng,--after  a  brief  exhibition  of  the  adjoining    " 

vouni'T  t  "  "'"  ''^"  ^'^  "^«^^'  ^^•^'  -d  I  hope 
you  11  remember  your  visit  with  pleasure.     I  told  you  at 

the  outset  that  you  were  treated  with  very  rare  con- 
sideration,  because  I  didn't  believe  that  in  your  case  it 
would  be  thiwn  way.  I  shall  be  hap^y  fo  give  you 
any  further  information  which  may  be  in  my  power." 

V  cij  much  obleeged  to  you,  'm  sure,  sir.  'T's  done 
^egood.  Jest  what  I  like.  Come  and  see  for  m 'self 
and  ben  treated  like  a  gentleman.  'F  't  'adn't  ben  for 
tnat-wall,  'accidents  m7/occur,  you  know,'  's  the  fellah 
said  once.     'Wish  all  success  to  the  ladles,  adoin'  good. 


218 


THE  NEW   PKIEST. 


and  ril  jest  go  straight  to  the  other  priest,— that's  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Terence's  or  O'Toole's,— and  do  a  little  busi- 
ness 'th  him,  'f'l  find  I  can." 

As  Father  Nicholas  and  his  guest  withdrew,  Sister 
Theresa  was  heard  saying,  "We  will  now  go  to  our 
office,  sisters,  and  we  have  something  to  make  up."  The 
machinery  of  the  establishment  (after  the  obstruction  had 
been  removed)  began  to  go  as  before.  We  go  with  the 
retiring  party  as  far  as  the  outside. 


P 
Ic 


the 

lusi- 


OTHiiK  SUSPICIOUS  PJiKSO^S. 


219 


4 


ster 
our 
rhe 
had 
the 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    MAGISTRATE    DEALS    WITH   OTHER    SUSPICIOUS 

PERSONS. 

JHK  world  was  going  on  in  Peterport  also.  Public 
suspicion    had,  of   course,   repeatedly  touched 
Father  Debree,  but  hud  never  been  able  to 
fasten  on  him.     One  or  two  overwise  bodies  undoubtedly 
thought  h.m  the  more  dangerous,  because  (a,  they  said) 
ha  was  so  deep,  and  n,ade  people  think  he  was  harm- 
less,    but  almost  every  one  (with  Skipper  George)  ab- 
solutely  discharged  him,  before  the  third  day.     To  have 
found  out  what  was  his  painful  and  mysterious  connection 

public— It  did  not  yet  appear. 

He  was  seldom  seen  in  the  harbor,  and  was  soon  little 
spoken  of;  the  fever  ,00,  in  Marchants'  Cove,  which 
killed  no  one,  ceased  to  occupy  men's  tongues,  or  the 
tongues  of  their  wives.  Mrs.  Barre's  sorrow  and  her 
mystery  were  left  to  silence,  while  steadily  the  genem 
thought  busied  itself  with  following  the  lost  maidef. 

at  Bay-Harbor;  but  ,t  was  also  said,  that  he  was  threat- 
ened „,„.  excommunication,  or  some  great  penalty,  and 
pubhc  opunon  naturally  sympathized  with  the  bereaved 
lover  and  the  disafTected  Roman  Catholic,  (if  he  was  di" 


m        -t  I 


y 


220 


THE  NEW  PKIEST. 


affected  ;)— the  public  eye  still  looker!  darkly  at  Mrs.  Cal- 
loran,  and  beyond. 

Mrs.    Calloran    herself   had   said, — xevy   truly, that 

"  there  were  other  old  women  in  Piiterport,"  and  the  hands 
of  justice,  again  feeling  about,  grasped  Granny  Palasher 
and  held  her  to  an  examination.  They  were  to  have 
laid  hold  on  Mr.  Bangs,  (this  time,)  and  Ladfbrd ;  but 
these  had  both  slipped  between,  like  other  little  men  of 
old  time,  between  those  of  another  giant.  Of  Ladfbrd's 
movements  nothing  was  reported ;  but  of  the  American, 
William  P^rank  had  this  to  say.  That  he  had  sent  some 
important  communication  to  the  vice-consul  of  his  coun- 
try, at  St.  John's,  and  had  left  the  harbor  for  parts  un- 
known. 

The  magistrate  made  little  out  of  the  Granny,  except 
that  her  name  was  properly  Ann  Pilchard,  and  that  the 
public  suffrage  was  with  her  when  she  asserted  that  she 
"  had  an  occupation  and  knowed  it  'most  so  good  as  some 
other  folks  did  theirs,  mubbe."  Having  in  the  course  of 
a  day  elicited  so  much,  he  adjourned  his  court. 

Awaking  from  the  sleep  which  had  settled  down  upon 
a  mind  and  body  jaded  with  the  long  day's  and  night's 
work,  which  went  before  and  followed  the  last  adjourn- 
ment of  his  "  court,"  and  yet  another  full  day's  painful 
deliberation,  he  was  informed  by  his  servant,  that  there 
was  a  paper  on  the  front-door,  and  that  "he"  (the 
paper)  "  looked  mostly  like  a  print,  seemunly."  The 
color  rose  in  Mr.  Naughton's  cheeks,  and  his  fingers 
trembled  as  he  proceeded  to  examine  this  new  decoration 
of  his  house.     He  evidently  suspected  it. 

He  walked  leisurely  and  stopped  at  more  than  one 
thing  in  the  way,  and  when  he  got  out  of  doors,  looked 
up  at  the  sky  and  down  at  some  vegetation  on  which  he 


— n 


OTHER  SUSPICIOUS   PERSONS.  221 

had  expended  a  great  deal  of  manure,  befon^  approachina 
the  object  which  bad  stimulated  the  curiosity  of  bis  maid. 
When  be  did  at  length  deliberately  turn  to  view  it  be 
saw  a  huge  broadside  of  wrapping-paper,  bearing  the 
words  (m  charcoal,) 

"  the  FaytFul  megistrun." 
He  certainly  looked  fliteful,   (as  the  poster  uninten- 
tionally  called  him,)  when  be  bad  read  this  tbino-. 

"  Ha ! »  said  be,  "  parties  may  burn  their  fingers,  if 
they  don  t  looic  out;"  and  be  conspicuously,-tbat  all  the 
ncghborhood  or  the  world  might  see  it,_tore  the  paper 
first  mto  long  strips  and  then  into  little  bits,  which  be 
gave  by  mstalments  to  the  winds.   He  then  walked  debb- 
erately  up  and  down  in  front  of  bis  bouse,  turning  bis 
face,  (considerably  reddened  by  the  activity  of  his  mind  )  " 
frequently  to  the  road,  with  an  «  Hm  ! "  as  if  to  show  the 
world  that  there  be  was,  unmoved,  and  ready  to  be  the 
mark  of  any  animadversion. 

"  Si  fractm  illabatur  a,-bis  (sedente  ipso,  sc,  in  cathedra), 

So  for  some  time  be  aired  himself,  before  going  in  to 

That  the  impersonation  of  Justice  in  Peterport  was  not 
wer^ry  of  Us  efforts,  was  soon  made  manifest.      Gilpin 
.he  constable,  hinted  the  propriety  of  having  Mrs.  Cal' 
loran  up  again,  and  giving  her  a  "  bauling-over." 

This  proposition  the  magistrate  disposed  of  summarily, 
by  a  legal  aphorism  :  «  A  person  can't  be  tried  twice  for 
the  same  offence,  Mr.  Gilpin,  according  to  English  law  • " 
and  he  fbrestaUed  an  argument  over  which  the  constable's 
eye  was  twinkling,  and  whicb  be  was  just  making  up  his 
mouth  to  utter,  by  putting  into  that  officer's  hand  a  war- 
rant,  and  saying  authoritatively, 


222 


THE   NEW   PRIEST. 


"You'll  see  that  Mrs.  Frank  is  brought  before  me 
with  all  diligence." 

The  constable's  eye  twinkled  as  much  as  ever;  and, 
putting  the  writ  in  his  pocket,  before  he  wont  forth  upon 
his  errand,  he  made  a  new  suggestion  : — 

."  She'll  never  be  able  to  stand  it,  sir,  will  she,  poor  old 
thing  ?  she's  had  a  good  deal  o'  worriment  over  this  al- 
ready, they  say." 

"Justice  is  absolute,  Mr.  Gilpin;  if  you  find  her  health 
impaired,  you  will  report  it." 

So  the  constable  went  about  his  business. 

Granny  Frank  was  at  the  time  upon  a  few  days*  visit 
to  her  grand -daughter,  Jesse  IJarbury  Hill's  wife,  and 
thither  the  constable  [)roceeded,  to  subpoena  her,  or  rather 
fetch  her  with  him  to  the  magistrate. 

There  was  a  little  commotion  in  the  house  as  Gilpin 
came  to  it,  which  prevented  his  tap  at  the  door  from 
being  heard,  and  he  walked  in,  accordingly,  unbidden. 

A  child  or  two  were  playing  in  the  sitting-room ;  but 
all  the  older  members  of  the  family  had  drawn  together 
in  a  bedroonv  at  the  side.  The  constable  came  silently 
across,  and  was  not  noticed ;  for  Jesse  and  his  wife,  and 
Isaac  Maffen  were  busy  about  a  bed,  in  which  the  sliriv- 
elled  and  exhausted  old  woman  lay,  heaving  long,  slow 
sighs  for  breath. 

"  Jes-se, — child — ,"  she  was  saying,  with  longer  than 
her  usual  intervals  between  the  syllables,  and  more  feebly 
than  usual, — "  un-der — my — rump ! — heave — I — up, — I 
— wants — to — ffo — hi<Th" 

Jesse  Hill,  as  dutifully  as  a  child,  and  as  tenderly  as 
might  be,  did  her  bidding ;  and  raised  the  slight  body  up. 

"She'i  gone!"  sBLid  Gilpin,  as  he  scanned  her  face; 
"  that's  her  last  word  in  this  life,  you  may  depend ! " 


I 


OTHER   SUSPICIOUS   PERSONS.  jgS 

"Do  -ee  think  so? "asked  Jesse;  « why,  she's  sca'ce 
go-t  through  wi'  talkunl" 

"Next  time  she  speaks  it  won't  bo  here,"  said  the  con- 
fltablo  gravely. 

"  God  rest  her,  then  ! "  said  her  grandson-in-law ;  « I'm 
glad  we  was  all  w'itun  upon  her  when  she  goed,  any- 

"It's  good  or,  trouble  for  nothing  was  saved  her'" 
said  the  constable;. 

So  they  laid  her  down  again,  decently,  upon  the  bed, 
and  sent  for  the  different  members  of  the  family,  while 
the  constable  lingered,  without  mentioning  the  errand 
upon  which  he  had  come. 

"  What  have  you  got  here,  Jesse?"  said  he,  as  his  eye 
caught  sight  of  a  parcel  standing  on  the  mantle-shelf. 

"Mr.  Banks  give  it  to  I  to  bring  «p,  for  un,  from  B'y- 
Harbor."  ^ 

"Why,  it's  for  the  Parson,  man;  why  didn't  you  deliver 
It  ? 

"  Pie  on'y  asked  I  to  bring  it,"  said  the  trusty  deposi- 
tary;  «an'  so  I  kept  it,  tuU  Vd  call,  'isself.  I  never 
knowed  what  it  was." 

"  Well,  bad  readin'  '11  never  spoil  you,  J*esse.  How 
long  was  the  old  lady  sick  ?  " 

^ ''  She  ..ever  was  sick ;  not  that  we  knowed  of;  but  just 
visitun,  an'  layun  on  the  bed,  as  comfortable  as  could  be 
tull  just  a  few  minutes  sunce  ;— as  it  might  be,  two-three' 
minutes  afore  you  comed  in." 

"Well,  she's  had  enough  of  it,  if  she  was  ready.  She 
might  have  had  too  much,  if  she'd  staid  longer.  Is  Naath 
home  ?  " 

"No;  we'll  wait  the  funeral  tull  Monday,  I  suppose,  to 
give  un  a  chance  to  come  back." 


fU 


THE  np:w  PRinST. 


The  constable  took  his  leave,  and  went  to  make  his 
return.     Jesse  went  too. 

Hofh  the  men  started  hack,  and  made  a  reverential 
saliUation,  as  they  met  Mrs.  IJarre,  on  coinin;»  into  tlio 
road.     Her  look  was  more  troid)l('d  than  usual. 

"  It's  easier  partin'  a  p;ran'moth('r  than  it  is  a  husband 
or  a  child,"  said  the  constable,  shortly  after. 

"All  so,  Mr.  Gulpin,"  said  Jesse,  "  that's  a  clear  case  ; 
you've  got  to  part  they.  I  hard  Parson  Kiii<j;inan's  wife 
say,  '  death  t's  art  alteration,  surely,  an'  can'  be  helped.' " 

There  were  some  loiterers  about  the  mnf];istrate's  prem- 
ises ; — people  that  can  always  spare  time  tor  public  atlaira ; 
and  whom,  now,  the  mission  of  the  constable  had  stimu- 
lated to  strong  expectJincy.  The  magistrate  was  im- 
mersed in  mental  and  manual  occupation :  reading  and 


writmg. 


*'  There  was  sonje  one  to  summons  her  before  I,  sir," 
said  Gil[)in. 

*'  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  magistrate,  nervously ; 
for  though  he  got  along  very  well  with  plenty  of  sea- 
room,  the  prospect  of  a  collision  or  conflict  of  jurisdictions 
was  a  new  thing  to  him. 

"  She's  d^ad,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Dead  !  Why,  that  can't  be,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Naughton, 
"  she  was  alive  yesterday." 

"And  so  she  was  the  minute  she  died,  sir ;  but  she 
won't  be  again,  in  one  while,  unless  the  Day  of  Judgment 
comes." 

The  comparison,  so  strongly  drawn  by  the  Almighty 
between  His  might  and  the  Nripendiary's  "absolute  jus- 
tice," atfected  Mr.  Naughton  considerably. 

He  went  to  the  window,  (the  public  being  outside,)  and 
through  it  spoke, — 


OTHKR  SUSPICIOUS   PERSONS. 


225 


"I  am  given  to  uruUTStiuul,"  waid  he,  "that  Mph.  Abi- 
gail Frank,  commonly  oallcd  Old  Granny  Frank,  who 
had  been  Hummoncd  a8  a  witne.sn,  is  dead.  I  8hail, 
therefore,  prorogue  this  court,  as  is  customary,  until  after 
the  funeral.  Mr.  Gil[)in,  this  warrant  is  dismissed ; "  and 
he  solemnly  bow<ul  away  the  constal)le  and  a  few  of  the 
more  adventurous  neighbors  who  had  got  a  place  within. 

"  Good ! "  said  Gil[)in,  as  soon  as  they  were  iti  the 
king's  highway ;  "  I  hope  the  next  thing,  .he'll  hear  the 
Emperor  of  Egypt's  dead,  and  adjourn  for  a  twelve- 
month." 

The  people  dispersed,  (to  better  occu[)ations,  perhaps,) 
and  Granny  Palasher  having  certified  herself  of  the  lact, 
from  Jesse,  commented  upon  it  as  many  another  old 
woman  has  commented  upon  a  like  case: — 

"  Poor  thing !  she  alw'ys  seemed  to  nil  o'  somethun, 
these  few  years  back  ;  but  I  do  wonder  what  'ave  atookt 
she,  at  last ! " 

From  the  magistrate's,  Gilpin  made  his  way  to  the 
Minister's. 

"  The  '  Spring- Bird '  has  sailed,  sir,"  said  he ;  "  o'  Tues- 
day night,  Jesse  says ;  so  Cap'n  Nolesworth's  off." 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wellon.  "  I'm  sorry  he  couldn't 
have  staid  to  help  us  clear  this  up !  " 

The  "  little  mite  of  a  bundle,"  as  the  sender  had  desig- 
nated it,  proved,  when  developed,  lo  be  a  quaint-looking 
letter  on  a  foolscap  sheet,  addressed  to  "  Mister  Wellon, 
the  English  episcopalian  minister  at  Peterport,  to  the 
kindness  of  Mister  Barbury,  with  Dispatch." 

The  Minister,  having  read  it  with  varying  expressions 
in  his  face  of  surprise,  amusement,  and  interest,  handed 
it  to  the  constable,  saying, — 

"  You  seem  to  be  concerned  in  this." 

VOL.  I.  15 


"^ 


M 


226 


THK  NKW  PRIEST. 


The  latter  took  it,  with  a  look  of  astonishment,  and 
having  prefaced  his  work  by  the  remark,  "  Well,  that's  a 
queer-looking  concern,  any  way,"  proceeded  to  read  aloud, 
in  a  subdued  voice,  and  here  and  there  with  difficulty,  as 
follows  : — 

"  Mister  Wellon,  Sir  :— 

"  Thinking  you  may  be  aware  of  a  little  surcumstance 
that  happened  here,  and  knowing  your  concern  in  people's 
souls,  is  my  ^reason  for  writing,  to  let  you  know  what, 
maybe,  will  prove  interesting.     You  see  I  took  a  notion 
to  look  into  this  Holy  Roman  Religion,  a  might,  while  I's 
about  it,  and  not  having  any  thing  partiklar  to  do  till  fall 
business  commences.     1  think  best  to  inform  friends  and 
all  concerned,  /  may  be  converted,  and  I  may  not :  sup- 
pose it  ell  be  according  to.     I  have  ben  in  one  of  those 
Nunneries,  ye  may  call  it.     Never  saw  any_  thing  the 
kind  managed  better,  in  my  life.     Sister  Theresy  is  as 
genteel  a  lady  as  I  sliould  wish  to  see.     A  little  accident 
occurred  while  I's  holding  inspection,  as  you  may  say. 
My  hat,  you  may  have  taken  notice  to  it,"  ("  Well,  this  is 
a  pretty  fellow ! "  said  Gilpin,)  "  it  went  and  come  right 
out  of  my  hand,  away  into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  in  a 
room  where  they  had  a  young  lady  sick.     Most  every-  ' 
body  carries  a  few  notions  i:i  his  hat,  I  guess,  and  so  I 
had  a  pocket-handkerchief,  and  a  knife,  and  a  razor,  and 
a  comb,  and  what  not  ?  and  the,)-  all  went  sescatter.  Pen- 
knife, one  of  your  Congress  knives,  present  from  honor- 
able Tieberius  Sesar  Thompson,  Member  Congress,  went 
away  off  under  a  picture ;  see  it  was  "  Saint  Lucy,"  right 
opposite  the  bed;  same  name  of  your  Miss   Barbury: 
pretty  well  executed,  I  sho'd  judge ;  only  a  might  too  red 
in  the  face,  supposing  she  fasted  as  I  should  say  she  had    ' 
ought  to,  if  she  was  a  Nun.      Lucky  I  didn't  wake  the 


OTHER   SUSPICIOUS   PERSONS. 


227 


fiick,  but,  most  likely,  she'd  had  medcine,  as  I  took  notice 
to  her  breathing,  ruther  heavy  and  dead.  Should  judge 
they  kei>  her  ruther  covered  up.  All  I  eould  see  wan 
jest  an  attorn  of  her  face  and  a  might  of  black  hair :  should 
say  she  ought  to  have  fresh  air.  I  thought  of  the  short- 
ness and  uncertainty  of  human  life — seemed  to  be  about 
eighteen  nigh  as  I  could  judge;  but  Father  Nicholas, 
they  call  him,  that  showed  me  round,  seemed  to  feel  bad 
about  the  accedent,  and  I  come  away,  and  took  a  cour- 
teous leave.  , 

Sir,  I  needent  say  to  you  that  writing  about  religious 
experience  is  private  and  confidential,  without  it's  a  friend 
like  Mr.  Gilpin,  the  constable.  Shouldent  like  to  hurt 
the  feelings  of  the  old  gentleman,  that's  Father  O'Toole, 
who  is  willing  to  take  unbounded  pains  ateaching.  I  tolc 
him  if  he  ever  had  occasion  to  call  on  the  Governor  of 
Massachusetts,  to  mention  my  name,  and  say  Mr.  Bangs 
of  Needham  that  used  to  be.  Believing,  sir,  you  know 
how  to  act  about  corresjwndents  of  a  confedential  char- 
acter, I  remain.  Yours  truly,  and  to  command, 

Elnathan  Bangs." 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  Gilpin,  looking  up,  with  his  one 
eye  twinkling,  when  he  had  finished  the  reading,  "  if  that 
isn't  a  letter  and  a  half! " 


"  Tiiese   Americans    have 


strange 


ways,"   said   Mr. 


Wellon;  "but  do  you  notice  any  thing  particularly  in 
"his  letter.?" 

"About  the  sick  girl  ?  and  the  black  hair  ?  and  about 
eighteen  years  old  ? "  asked  Gilpin,  putting  these  things 
together  with  a  directness  that  would  not  have  been  un- 
worthy of  a  policeman  of  abundant  practice  ;  "  yes,  sir ; 
and  '  St.  Luci/  ! '  How  should  that  happen  ?  Or  do  you 
think  Mr.  Bangs  put  that  in  ?  " 


228 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"  Oh,  no,**  said  Mr.  Wellon ;  « that's  just  what  they  would 
do,  very  likely,  if  they  were  trying  to  make  a  convert ; 
they  d  hang  up  a  portrait  of  her  patron-saint,  as  they  caU 
It.  All  this  confirms  our  suspicion.  Thank  God  it  comes 
just  in  time.  I  never  thought  of  the  American  making 
himself  so  useful." 

"Dropping  his  hat!"  said  the  constable.  "If  that 
isn't  one  way  of  gitting  into  a  place!  That  is  a  joke! 
'Holy  Roman  Religion!'  There's  a  convert  for  'em! 
But  that  sick  girl " 

"That's  a  pity!"  said  the  Minister,  thoughtfully,-the 
constable  eyeing  him  curiously  the  while.  « If  we  could 
use  his  evidence " 

"  I  take  it,  sir,  we  can  use  it  by  the  time  we  want  it." 

"  Ay ;  but  in  the  mean  time  this  poor  man  will  get  en- 
tangled, perhaps,  beyond  help." 

The  constable  still  looked  curiously  and  inquiringly. 

"The  maid,  sir?  Lucy  Barbury?"  suggested  he,  by 
way  of  amendment  to  the  word  "man,"  in  the  Minister's 
sentence. 

^''  No  ;  I  was  thinking  of  this  American,— Mr.  Bangs." 

"But  it  won't  do  him  any  harm,  sir;  will  it?"  asked 
Gilpin,  still  puzzled. 

The  Minister  answered  : — 

"To  be  sure,  he  wasn't  a  churchman  before;  but  I 
should  be  very  sorry,  nevertheless,  to  see  him  become  a 
papist.     If  he  should  see  this  plot,  it  might  cure  him." 

"  He  sees  it  fast  enough,  sir,  or  I'm  much  mistaken," 
said  the  constable. 

"  But,"  answered  Mr.  Wellon,  « I  can't  think  he  under- 

stands  the  whole  thing;  and  if  he  could  be  rescued " 

"  From  Father  O'Toole,  sir  ?  The  Yankee  '11  Uike  care 
of  hmiself,  I'll  go  bail.     We  needn't  trouble  ourselves 


/ 


OTHER  SUSPICIOUS  PERSONS.  229 

about  saving  him,  sir,  any  more  than  a  fish  from  drown- 
ing. If  he  isn't  up  to  any  of  'em,  he's  no  Yankee.  It's 
my  opm.on,  they'll  find  it  slow  work  converting  him  " 

The  Mmister  smiled,  good-humoredly,  as  his  solicitude 
for  Mr.  Bangs  was  blown  away.  "It's  strange  that  he 
should  get  m  there,"  said  he. 

«  They've  been  too  cunning,  and  not  cunning  enough," 
answered  the  constable.  «  They  thought  he'd  tell  everV 
body  he  d  been  all  ovor  the  place,  and  people  would  think 
^must  be  all  right,  if  they  weren't  afraid  to  let  un  in. 
Father  Nicholas,  there,  thought  he  could  keep  un  safe 
enough  ;  but  he  didn't  think  about  his  hat !  "  — 

So,  this  evening,  the  old  suspicion,  setting  towards  Bay- 
Harbor,  and  the  nuns  and  priests  there,  possessed  the 
Mmister  and  his  council  more  strongly  than  it  had  done 
smce  Lucy  Barbury  was  lost 


/ 


/ 


230 


THE  NEW  PBIEST. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MR.    BANGS    HAS    AN   INTERVIEW   WITH    THE    HEAD    OP 

THE    MISSION. 

)E  left  Mr.  Bangs  at  Bay-Harbor,  in  charge  of 
Father  Nicholas,  coming  from  the  nunnery, 
which  he  had  just  inspected.  Under  tlie  same 
sacerdotal  guidance,  he  walked  towards  the  priests'  quar- 
ters. 

They  passed  into  the  hall.  Father  Nicholas  leading,  and 
awaited,  next,  the  result  of  the  latter's  knocking  thrice 
upon  an  inner  door. 

The  word  "  Enter,"  surrounded,  so  to  speak,  by  a  sound 
of  bustle,— much  as  a  word  is  written  by  painters  in  a  sur- 
rounding of  cloud,— called  them  to  the  "  dignitary's  "  pres- 
ence.    He  sat,  sedate,  in  his  wide  chair,— his  dress  care- 
fully arranged  in  his  style  of  state,-and  was  intent,  in 
studious  zeal,  upon  a  book.     Looking  up  gravely  from 
his  work,  he  fidgeted  a  little,  trying  to  wear  a  calm,  high 
dignity,  in  waiting   for   an  explanation   of  the   visit,— 
(which,  by  the  way,  it  may  be   thought  he  understood 
beforehand,)— and  ended  with  a  kindly  bustle  of  bringing 
chairs. 

"This  gentleman,  Reverend  Father  Terence,  is  an 
American,  descended  from  an  eminent  stock  in  the  re- 
public  " 


iMR.   BANGS  HAS  AN  INTER VIKW. 


23] 


Mr.  Bangs,— who  sat  with  his  nght  ankle  resting  on 
h.s  left  knee,  his  chair  now  and  then  rearing  rnder  him, 
like  a  trained  horse,  and  coming  down  again  on  all  fours' 
—said,  meekly :  "  Oh,  some  of  'em  've  got  their  coats-'f- 
arms,  V  what  not ;  that's  beyond  me  ;  but  I  know  jest  as 
wall  who  my  gran'ther  was  as  can  be.     You  know,  I  told 
ye  about  the  deacon— Parsimmon  Tarbox— on  mother's 
side  ;  but,  on  fiither's  side,  they  were  Bangses  all  the 
way  up  to  Noah's  flood,  's  fur  's  I  know ;  Jedidiah,  and 
Jehoshaphat,  and  Jeshimon,  and  Joshuy,  and  what  not, 
—church-members  and  s'lectmen,  (some  of  'em,)— an'  so 
on,  all  down." 

''Atavis  regibus  ;  they  are  all  kings  and  sovereigns  iu 
that  favored  country,"-(«  Cer-tin,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,)- 
"and  he  professes  a  desire  to  be  acquainted  with  the 
Catholic  Faith,  Father  Terence,  and,  indeed,  a  readiness 
to  be  converted.  I  bring  him,  of  course,  to  yourself;"— 
(the  di-nitary  bowed,  with  as  smooth  and  steady  a  swing 
as  that  of  a  pendulum,  and  said  "  Of  coorse  !  ")— «  know- 
ing that  if  there  was  any  one  to  do  extraordinary  work, 
that  one  was  the  very  Reverend  Father  O'Toole ;  "— 
(again  a  smooth,  slow  bow  from  the  dignitary,  who  spoke 
thus :) — 

«  And,  by  a  strange  forchuitous  accident,  what  should 
I  be  engaged  upon  at  this  identical,  present  moment,  but 
a  very  ai'struse  work  upon  that  very  country !  It's  a 
rare  work,  too,  I'm  thinkin'.  I've  here  the  second  vol- 
ume, which  I  procured  with  great  difficulty  through 
Barney  Baine,-(did  ye  know  Barney  ?)  and  he  had  but 
the  one.  I'm  not  sure  is  there  another  copy  iv  it  ex- 
tant." 

«  You're  quite  recondite  in  the  authorities  you  consult. 
I  should  have  thought  that  credible  writers  on  that  coun- 


282 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


try  could  be  found  with  less  trouble,  and  in  a  complete 
form." 

"Ay;  but,  d'ye  see.?  it's  but  little  they've  known  of 
writing  and  the  like  o'  that,— those  Amerikyins,— until 
those  late  years,  (the  most  c'  HAm,  ih^t  is,)  being  all 
mostly  .savage  Indgins,  I  supi^^  ■  /,th  a  small  sprinkling 
of  Europyins  and  Irish,  certa  v  y.)  Som-  o'  thim  took 
to  learning,  I  suppose,  naturally,  for  the  man  here's^  got  a 
name  of  his  own  that  would  puzzle  a  Tom'hawk  himself, 
—(that's  one  of  their  tribes,  d'ye  know  ?  as  they  call 
them.)  To  be  sure,  tha  most  of  it  seems  to  be  in  plain 
English,  surely ;  but  then,  d'ye  see  ?  the  great  learning 
that's  here,  undoubtedly,  all  in  the  original  tongue,"  said 
Father  O'Toole,  shutting  the  book. 

"  Have  you  mastered  the  '  original,'  then,  already,  in 
your  retirement,  and  without  a  teacher  ?  What  a  figure 
you'd  have  made  in  the  Sacred  Congregation,  or  in  our 
College  at  Rome,  to  be  sure  !  " 

The  portly  personage  complimented  thus,  rose  up  to 
put  away  the  book,  while  the  younger  priest,  with  a  grave 
courtesy,  followed  him,  and,  asking  permission  to  look  at 
the  learned  treatise,  secured  it,  when  laid  down,  and  read 
aloud  "  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,"  as  he  author's  name, 
and  added,  as  comment,  "  What  a  DuiJi-soundinff  name 
it  is  !  "  "" 

"  Ye  may  say  that ;  and  ye'll  remember,  be-the-by,  the 
Dutch  has  much  trade  with  the  Indies  and  the  neighbor- 
ing parts,  and  has  had,  those  many  years.  It's  to  be 
feared  they've  been  teaching  them  their  own  relidon,  too. 

.'' 

The  other  inquired  : — 

"Do  you  find  this  writer  orthodox  ?  The  name  sounds 
as  if  it  ought,  fairly,  to  be  found  in  the  Index :  '  Diedrichius 


MR.   BANGS   HAS   AN  INTERVIEW.  233 

that  kind !     It's  a  learn'd  work.-it's  a  very  learn'd 
work,   tins    doubtless,   i„    its    wa,,-but    not    sound    in 

no   t  o^often  that  a  busy  .an,  like  .eself,  can  ,'et  a  look 
at  them      It  s  onlj  dipping  into  i^  that  I've  done,  just  to 

fl;  tfthrr;?;    ^"^  '^-^  ^^  -^  exceHen'tCd 

If     T/     ,T  "'    '"'''"**^^  ^^^  American,)-"  and  to 
take  up  the  old  anncient  faith." 

"Wall,  I'm  looking  that  way,  to  see  what  I  can  make 
of  It,  explained  the  American.  "It's  conviction  '! 
much  's  any  thing,  that  I  want,  I  ruther  guess.     There' 

Wd  Tf"7'  '°'"°  *'^  ^^^^"  ^^  ■^t,^(Jyko.  it's  seTen 
hunderd  forty-seven  in  '  Revival  Rhapsodies '  :)- 

When  I  can  leave  this  load  o'  clay, 

And  stretch  my  limbs,  and  soar  away 
And  breathe  the  upper  air; 

Then  let  the  world  go  all'to  smash  ; 

I'll  lift  my  head  above  the  crash, 
And  take  fast  hold  by  prayer. 

at  Eo^tham   Camp-Mee.ing .  would  do  a  body  good. 
There!     Too  know,  he  w's  a  long  kind  of  a  sloblded   . 
chap  an-  when  he  eome  to  '  load  o'  clay,"  he  wri<-Hed  his 

■  tn  inid"'"  r  r.  "'*'°"'"  <"''"^ "  -  °^^^) 

an  pulled  an'  tugged  't  his  coat,  like  all  possessed,  bu 
when  he  got  to  'stretch  my  limbs,  and  soar  away,' why 

4Ita^Ti',2^''  "'  '"■  "'"^  ■"  "»  """■<■  »f  0"  "■"y 


284 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


the  most  I  can  compare  it  to  was, wall,  he  up  'th  this 

arm,  'th  the  book  in  it,  an'  tlusn  t'other,  an'  kicked  down 
hi3  legs,  jest  's  if  he  was  goin'  to  stick  the  hymn-book 
away  up  through  somew'er's,  an'  go  right  up  afler  it. 
Why,  all  the  old  women,  'most,  put  right  out  to  git  hold 
of  him  by  the  heels,  or  what  not,  slngin'  *  Glory ! '  jest  as 
tight  's  they  could  stretch. But,  as  you  say,"— (no- 
body but  himself  said  any  thing,)—"  this  ain't  the  ques- 
tion now.  Question  is :  What's  about  the  shortest  an' 
quickest  way  o'  gitting  at  this  Catholic  religion  ?  's  you 
may  say." 

In  the  presence  of  this  active  elocutionist,  Father  Ter- 
ence looked,  for  the  moment,  as  if  the  world  that  he  be- 
longed to  had  been  knocked  away  somewhere,  and  he 
himself  had  tumbled  down  among  strange  things  and 
people.  Of  course  his  apparatus,  argumentative,  was  as 
useless  as  a  battery  of  cannon  against  a  freshet  or  other 
incongruity.  He  almost  instinctively  glanced  around  at 
the  odd  volume  of  Knickerbocker's  heretical  History, 
which  the  Holy  Father  {Sanctissimus  Noster,)  has  put 
upon  the  prohibitory  Index,  but  which  he  had  had  in  hand, 
before  this  unusual  encounter. 

Father  Nicholas,  for  whatever  cause,  adapted  himself 
at  once  to  the  character  of  the  man,  and  said,  with  grave 
appreciation  of  the  American's  peiformance,  (which  had 
been  given  with  as  thorough  zest  as  if  he  had  had  a  sly 
fancy  for  astonishing  the  old  priest,)  "  That  seems  to  be 
to  the  life,  Mr.  Bangs.  You  appropriate  the  religion  you 
belong  to  and  make  it  your  own ;  and  if  you  once  take 
the  true  Aiith  fliirly  in,  no  doubt  will  naturalize  that,  also. 
It's  just  the  thing  for  an  independent  thinker." 

"  Guess  I  should ;  make  no  kind  o'  doubt  of  it ;  and 
that's  the  way.   Your  folks  '11  find  it  out  one  o'  these  days, 


1 


MR.  BANGS   HAS  AN  INTERVIEW.  235 

and  do  according.  I  tell  ye  what  it  is :  Vli  take  a  prettv 
-art  chap,  and  he'll  have  to  unbutton  his  g,!  se  o 
ke  c  o..  ,  Yankees.  What's  the  use  o'  tlin'  abo 
w  nkm  madonnys  or  mai.l  of  honors,  or  what  you  may 
call  enj,  to  fellahs  that  think  any  thing  o'  the  value  o'  ZZ 
VVhy,  loi ,  jes    to  consider  that  the  Almighty,  't  knows 

It,  7ot?^^  '  "  '^°"^'^  'twa'n't  consistent.   Don't 

"  You  see,  Father  Terence,  how  the  uncatholic  mind 
goes  ,n  the  same  path  with  the  heathen,"  said  Father 
Nid^las,  solemnly,  this  is  the  '  nisi  di.nus  ^indice  nltZ 
ot  the  great  Roman  critic." 

"Ye  see  they  hev  to  be  taught  and  reasoned  down  to 
•^    or  up  to  it,  'ft  suits  better,)  b'fore  they  can  swaller 
what  you  may  say  's  the  truth,  'n    that  department  o' 
science.     After  a  man's  once  made  up  his  mind,  then  't's 
no  odds  ;  give  him  punkin  and  tell  him  it's  custard,  '„' 
f  ye  want  h.m  to,  he'll  swear  to't,  an'  cuss  all  out-doors 
f  they  make    ny  bones  about  it;    why,  'f  you  c'n  oni; 
convert  em,  yer  'nlightened  'mericans  '11  make  the  greatest 
foo-  hat  ,s,  fuliahs  for  Catholics,  agoin.     They'll  be  jest 
^e  ft,l  ahs  for  mirycles,  'n'  imyges,  'n'  saints,  an' what  not    , 
Why  take  me,  say.     Tie  a  han'k'ch'f  'crost  here,"  (set- 

hand.,)  "and  then  jest  make  me  think  'now  you  can't 
see,  and  I  can  ;  so  you  jest  see  what  I  see,'  and  then  tell 
me  theres  a  picture  't  painted  itself  'n'  I  take  it  f 'r  law 
n  gospd."  ^^ 

Hereabouts  Mr.  OToole  aeemed  to  have  found  his  feet 

again  and  to  know  where  he  was,  and  he  joined  the  eon- 

ve.-sat,or,  w,th  an  assnranee  to  the  American  that  he  was 

well.p,ea,«l  to  hear  him  talk  that  way,  and  that  he 


236 


THE  m:W   PRIKST. 


would  show  him  as  much  as  he  could  reasonably  expect 
of  thp  like  of  that." 

"  I  s'pose  I'm  'bout's  ignorant  o'  this  nunnery  business 
's  any  thing,  pooty  nigh;  haven't  got  the  hang  of  it, 
yet " 

"  Indeed  you  needn't  be  botherin'  yerself  about  these 
holy  houses  at  all,  for  it's  small  concern  ye'U  have  with 
them,  anny  way,  unless  ye've  a  sister  or  cousin,  or  the 
like  o''that,  ye'd  want  to  devote  to  the  service  of  God; 
but  we'll  put  ye  into  the  direct  way  of  learning  all  the 
whole  order  and  system  of  the  Catholic  religion,  all  out, 

meself  will  discourse  ye,  and  Father  Nicholas,  here, 

he  that  was  here,  a  moment  since,  anny  way,  for  it's  not 

here  now  that  he  is, we'll  all  take  ye  in  hand,  and 

we'll  make  short  and  sure  work  of  ye,  if  ye're  ready  for 
it,"  and  Father  Terence  proceeded  to  lay  down  a  pro- 
gramme for  the  impending  course  of  teaching. 

"  Me  good  sir,  ye'll  consider,  ye  know,  my  avycations, 
in  some  degree  ;  but  a  jue  proportion  of  me  time  shall  be 
given,  doubtless,  to  the  important  work  ye're  proposing. 
Yerself '11  mostly  give  yer  whole  time  to  it,  iv  course." 

During  this  speech  the  Reverend  Father  took  down  his 

pipe  from  his  mouth,  filled  and— after  a  good  deal  of 

exercise  with  a  flint  and  steel,  between  which  too  great 

familiarity  had  bred  a  mutual  contempt — lighted  it. 

"  Guess  I  c'd  git  ye  some  '  the  real  stuff,  'n  th'  way  o' 

t'bacca,  't  less  'n  cost  and  no  commission, but,  sir, 

'bout  this  religion-business,— when  sh'll  I  call  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Bangs,  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone,  whether  he  aimed 
at  two  or  not. 

"Ye'll  just  come  everyday,  beginning  the  morrow — 
not  too  early,  ye  know,  be  rason  iv  the  church  juties. 
Yerself '11  desire  an  hour  or  two  for  early  devotion  and 


ff 


■Mil-   BANUS  HAS  AN  INTKIIVIKW.  jjgy 

meditation,  ami  will  practice  abstinence-  inkin'  „„.  , 
-Jee  an,,  „„.„  „„,1  „,„„.,.,  „„„  „  Z^^^TZ 

Cl.ri„  tl,al'    II     .,  y"M,l,mit  t„  the  Vicar  of 

^;;^Kif.econ..c.r/™.l:!:;::;:~;i;: 

;;  Wall  !••  e«laimed  Mr.  Bang,,,  »if  Casty-Divy " 

tongf  bt;/v:it""A"r- '«"""'"'  "■ "«'  '■»''  i-"- 

said  the  PrLl    '         "'  "  "  "' '""  '*  °'  ^^  "«'"'  •' " 

•t  3\'  «re"fr'' '   ''"f  Casty-Divy  Seie„.,.y  Cook. 
I  used  t  live_(does,  now,  fur's  I  know,)_jest  'cm«  In,= 

f  m  our  house— S'nose  't's  this  w.  ' 

...  ,  -Jfose   ts  ttiis  JNunnerv,  much's  anv 

thing,  made  me  think  'f  her.'   Used  to  stfclcT  W  „     ^ 
•s  ye  may  say,_yo  know  birds  have  a  W„d  Va  7^' 

s  1  said  bfore,  dono  what  'tis  'n  Irish     th.,  -    r     /     ^ 
wan,  Vs  what  ye  may  call  a  .JmX'l:^:X- 
undertake  to  git  someth'n  down,  't  „„nt  go."    Cil  us 
trat,on  from  comparative  anatomy,  he  wi  dvi„7l  f  t 
were  quite  new  with  himself  ^      °  "'  '"^  " 

-tr^te^pt::---'"^''- of  interrupting. 

and'  '^'^Z  r^J- :;  :  ^'""'  .--eh  yer  legs  a  hi. 
fc    mio  tne  chapel  convenient,  and  it'll  help  on 


288 


THK   Ni;W    I'RIKHT. 


tilt*  conversion,  it's  likely,  and  be  a  g(K)(l  thing  to  meself, 
at  the  same  time,  being  at  the  beginning  of  an  affair  like 
the  present.  Ye'U  follow  me,  just,  and  do  what  ye  see 
me  bo  doing." 

Down  wejit  the  reverend  gentleman,  as  they  entered 
the  sacred  door,  crossing  himself,  touching  himself  with 
Holy  Water,  and  going  through  a  prayer,  appan>ntly,  but 
with  a  half-glance  towards  his  companion,  now  and  then, 
who  went  through  some  performances  of  his  own,  which 
bore  but  a  very  far-off*  likeness  to  those  of  his  prototype. 

*'  Will  ye  have  tiie  kindness  just  to  employ  yerself  in 
meditation  ?  or,  if  ve  please  to  go  out,  I'll  say  nothing 
against  it ;  I've  some  sacred  occupation,  here,  for  a  bit, 
and  I'll  join  ye  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  it's 
likely,"  said  the  wortliy  priest. 

Mr.  Bangs  accepted  the  latter  alternative,  with  the 
assurance,  "  Wall,  sir ;  jest  's  you  say.  .  'T's  indifferent 
to  me  ; "  and  having  occasion  to  look  in,  soon  after,  he 
saw  the  priest  engaged  apparently  quite  in  earnest,  in 
devotion  before  the  altar. 

When  he  looked  in  again,  he  saw  two  figures  get  up, 
where  he  had  seen  but  one  go  down,  and  recognized,  in 
the  double.  Father  Nicholas. 

Mr.  O'Toole,  as  well  as  could  be  judged,  Avas  taken  by 
surprise  himself;  and  as  our  American  drew  in  again 
within  the  chapel,  he  heard  the  last  words  of  a  short  con- 
versation which  had  already  taken  place  between  the 
priests,  while  they  came  forward  toward  the  door.  Fa- 
ther Nicholas  was  saying,  "  Your  wisdom  and  experience 
may  make  something  out  of  him  in  that  way,  which  I 
have  no  hope  to  give  any  efficient  help  in,  if  it  were 
needed.  I  see,  perhaps,  another  way  in  which  he  may 
be  useful." 


MK.   BANGS   HAS  AN   INTEKVIEW.  289 

placclike  .|™^^-^'"»  -  P-l«,«yourflr»,  visit  .„  , 

"  Wall,  I  must  own  '  never  wn^  in  \.h 

a  first  time.     We  rlnn't  i  T  ''"*'•     ^"^^  ^^ 

Hint,      we  don  t  have  all  tlip^o  fivJ^'o  '«  u 

tant  meetin's  ;  now  thV  ain'.  „      ,"':'''  ^"''^  ^   «  ^''otes. 

'em  fm  ivr         K  "  '■''''"  '"  *''«  w^^ole  lot  of 

em,  t  m  Massachusetts  down  to  M,^vir.n  m      *  .. 

inter's  relic',  'r  someb'dv'.*     iw  Xt'  '  """ 

'«  the,  can  without  J;  but  lo  [  tC  airir  ^^" 

hea,-d  about."  ''"'  """"'''""^  «''»'y. ''  I've 

However  tlaf      '  "'^  "'  rai.ed  F-IVe  heard.- 

tin      v!  ,     P°°'y  "^"'"We  kind  of  a  church  cer- 

"1-     Ye  never  heard  o'th'  'Old  ,S™„1,'    .n        '  "^^ 

and     ,    t  ni^, -LXir  r  tj:  :„  — 

huckleberrip«  in   „   ^        ,-  ^"  't'  J^st  like 

dou.|, 't T,  u         "/"7''"g'  '"""•e  y""  -aa't  see  the 

it,  T    "^'"'"'■-     "^''^  ™^  ""^^  ■""ke  -em's 
Ml-.  Bauga  58e„»  to  oonfoui.d  ti^o  words. 


240 


THE  NEW   PRIEST. 


this :  take  a  mess  o'  flour,  and  make  it  into  a  kind  'f  a 
batter,  or  whatever  you  may  call  it,  and  then  stir  in  your 
— wall,  that  ain't  exactly  what  I's  goin'  to  say.  That  Saint 
Peter's  must  be  great.  You  see  the  Protestants  ain't 
likely  t'  stand  *ny  sort  o'  comparison  'n  the  way  'f 
meet'n'-houses,  b'c'se  they  think  religion  ain't  s'  much  t' 
be  looked  at,  's  to  be  joined  in." 

"  It's  refreshing  to  hear  your  hearty  descriptions,  Mr. 
Bangs,  though  your  abundant  information,  upon  points 
with  which  your  friends  are  not  always  familiar,  leads 
you  a  little  wide,  sometimes.  Did  you  talk  with  the  very 
Reverend  Father  O'Toole  about  the  houses  of  God  ?  " 

"  Wall,  he  seemed  t'  fight  ruther  shy  of  'em,  I  thought. 
On'y  wish  those  fellahs  't  Peterport  c'd  see  all  I  saw  " — 

"  We  shall  arrange  to  send  any  messages  or  communi- 
cations that  you  may  desire,"  said  Father  Nicholas. 
"  Your  own  time  will  be  much  occupied  at  first.  I've  got 
a  pleasant  family  for  you  to  stay  in,  close  at  hand  here ; 
and  Father  Terence,  no  doubt,  will  arrange  hours,  and  so 
forth." 

Mr.  Bangs  had  goL  into  a  business-like  arrangement, 
by  which  the  sun  of  independence  was  to  be  considerably 
shorn  of  his  beams.  He  took  it,  however,  very  genially, 
and  as  the  priest  left  him  to  await  Father  Terence's  re- 
newed attention,  he  spread  a  blue  handkerchief,  doubled, 
on  the  ground,  and  taking  a  newspaper  out  of  his  hat,  sat 
down  to  read. 


ANOTHER  RELIC  FOUND. 


241 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


i 


ANOTHER   BELIC   POUND. 


)HE  bed  stood  in  the  little  room  at  Skipper 
George's,  unchanged  except  in  having  been 
made  up  ;  and  so  all  other  things,  there,  were  as 

the  maiden  left  them;  nor  was  the  door  of  that  room 

shut. 

After  a  sickness  has  been  finished  in  a  death,  and  after 
the  burial  is  done,  those  who  are  left  miss  very  much  the 
round  of  dCities  that  is  so  utterly  at  an  end.  They  start 
at  fancied  calls  ;  they  find  themselves  putting  their  hands 
to  things  no  longer  needed ;  they  lower  the  voice ;  they 
listen  sometimes,  and  then  recollect  that  there  is  no  one 
now  whose  light  sleep  may  be  broken,  or  whose  throbbing 
head  may  thrill  at  a  slight  sound;  there  is  none  now 
whose  breathing  may  give  token  of  rest  from  pain,  or 
whose  faint  words  can  scarcely  wing  a  flight  in  the  still 
air. 

And  then  the  thought  of  earlier  hours,  and  happier, 
comes  up,  when  the  departed  one  had  the  same  home  and 
the  same  household  things  with  them,  and  shared  their 
joys  and  sorrows.  Now  it  is  not  so.  One  form— whose 
head  has  lain  upon  our  bosom,  whose  hair  our  fin- 
gers played  with,  whose  eyelids  we  have  kissed,  whose 
lips  have  found  our  cheeks,  whose  arms  have  held  us, 


vot.,  1, 


16 


^4^ 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


whose  hands  have  done  so  many  pretty  things  or  played 
U3  such  sweet  tricks  of  merryhood — whose  look,  whose 
laugh,  whose  sleep,  whose  waking,  had  each  such  beauty 
of  its  own — has  gone  like  morning  mist  melted  in  air, 
like  the  blue  cloud  of  smoke  scattered  forever ;  like  the 
word  spoken,  like  the  bubble  broken. 

Skipi)er  George  knew  nothing  of  the  speculations  and 
suspicions  of  h''  friends  and  neighbors,  and  of  their  infor- 
mation gained,  ^hey  knew  hira  well  enough  never  to 
speak  of  these  to  him  ;  and  it  was  specially  enjoined  and 
urged  on  all  occasions,  by  the  Minister  and  constable, 
that  nothing  should  be  said  to  him  about  them.  His  wife 
heard  more — hoped  and  feared  more,  no  doubt,  but  yet 
took  her  prevailing  feeling  from  the  strong,  steady  char- 
acter of  her  husband,  and  never  told  him  of  her  hopes 
and  fears. 

The  need  of  sorrowing  hearts  (as,  indeed,  men's  need 
at  all  times)  is  faith  in  God,  and  work. ;  this  they  both 
knew  and  acted  on  ;  yet  she  would  sometimes  sit  down 
quietly  to  weep,  and  he  would  sometimes  lean  against  the 
door-post  of  the  little  room,  and  lose  himself  in  sad  mem- 
ories. 

During  this  time  of  planning  and  consultation  in  Peter- 
port,  and  searching  for  information,  another  memorial  of 
the  lost  girl  came  to  hand ;  such  evidence  as  it  contrib- 
uted was  iroui  an  unwished-for  quarter.  This  was  a  silk 
neck-kerchief,  taken  from  the  water  a  little  farther  down, 
toward  Castle-Bay  Point,  than  where  the  former  relic 
had  been  recovered. 

The  man  who  brought  it  said  that  he  had  seen  it  in 
passing  with  his  punt  along  that  shore,  as  it  clung  to  a 
rock,  and  was  tossed  up  and  down  with  the  wash.  The 
cloth  was  wet  with  brine,  and  torn  in  many  places  ;  but 


ANOTHER  RELIC  FOUND. 


243 


some  old  fishermen,  who  saw  and  handled  it  after  it  had 
been  recognized  as  having  belonged  to  Lucy,  asserted 
without  hesitation  that  it  had  never  been  a  week  in  the 
water.  Its  fabric  was  sound  and  good,  though  it  was  a 
good  deal  smeared  with  sea-weed ;  and  the  rents  must 
have  been  made  before  it  had  ever  gone  into  the  deep. 

The  finder  showed  the  place  where  it  was  found  ;  and 
it  seemed  strange  that  it  could  have  been  descried  in  such 
a  place,  unless  by  one  searching.  So  reasoned  the  plain 
fishermen,  and  they  looked  with  much  suspicion  at  the 
thing  (at  last)  because  the  man,  though  he  told  an  honest 
story  and  was  counted  an  honest  neighbor,  was  a  Roman 
Catholic,  as  it  happened  ;  and  though  they  did  not  doubt 
his  word,  they  "  considered,"  as  they  said,  that  "  he  might 
have  been  put  upon  it  unknowingly,"  to  keep  up  the  opin- 
ion that  the  Missing  was  drowned.  They  said,  ''her 
body  was  not  in  the  sea,  but  somewhere  else." 

The  neighbors  consulted  whether  they  could  keep  the 
knowledge  of  this  new  discovery  from  Skipper  George, 
and  determined  at  least  to  try  it.  They  gave  the  ker- 
chief, therefore,  in  trust  to  the  Minister.  The  news, 
however,  got  to  the  father,  as  news  always  will,  and  the 
next  day  he  presented  himself,  with  his  request : — 

"  Ef  'ee  thinks  best  to  give  me  what  'ee've  got,  sir,  I'd 
be  thankful  over  it." 

He  took  the  relic  in  his  hand>  wiped  off  the  tears  that 
fell  upon  it,  and  at  length,  handling  it  over,  said — 

"  Those  are  cruel,  grinding  teeth,  if  they  holes  were 
made  by  the  rocks." 

Notliing  could  be  more  expressive  than  what  he  said, 
and  his  way  of  saying  it,  and  saying  nothing  more.  The 
grinding  of  the  tender  body  of  the  innocent,  sweet  girl, 
upon  those  sharp  rocks ! 


i 


244 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


There  are  worse  teeth  in  the  water  than  those  of  the 
Bharp  rocks : — Did  the  father  think  of  those,  as  another 
would  think  of  them,  from  his  words  ?  Were  his  thoughts 
for  his  lost  child  as  quick  as  other  men's  ? 

"  I  cannot  think  her  lost  yet,  Skipper  George,"  the 
Minister  answered,  saying  as  much  as  he  would  venture. 
The  father  still  held  the  kerchief  under  his  eyes,  as  he 
said : — 

"  There  was  a  coat  of  many  colors  that  had  been 
on  a  dear  child,  brought  home  to  his  father,  and  'e 
thought  an  evil  beast  had  devoured  un  ;  but  the  lad  was 

n'  dead, thank  God ! — I  don'  know  where  piy  child 

is,  but  He've  got  her." 

He  looked  up  in  Mr.  Wellon's  face,  as  he  finished  this 
sentence,  and  it  was  like  the  clearing  off  of  the  dark  sky, 
that  broad,  peaceful  look  of  his. 

He  folded  the  cloth  tenderly,  and  bestowed  it  in  his  inner 
jacket-pocket  and  departed.  He  had  now  two  recovered 
memorials  of  his  Lucy,  since  her  loss. 

His  errand  was  up  the  harbor ;  and  as  he  passed  out 
of  the  drung  from  Mr.  Wellon's,  young  Urston,  who  was 
thin  and  pale,  but  had  thrown  himself  into  hard  work  at 
Messrs.  Worner,  Grose  &  Co.'s,  met  him,  and  having 
respectfully  saluted  him,  walked  silently  at  his  side,  an- 
swering questions  only.  At  length  the  young  man  broke 
the  silence  for  himself 

"  I  think  we  can  trace  her,  now,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  as 
if  he  thought  he  scarcely  had  a  right  to  speak  of  Lucy  to 
her  father.  Skipper  George  turned  upon  him  an  eye 
mild  as  a  woman's,  and  said, — 

"  James,  thou  doesn'  know,  yet,  what  an  old  father's 
heart  is.  See,  here's  an  old  hull  wi'  a  piece  knocked 
into  her  side  ;  and  I've  laid  her  over  upon  the  t'other  tack, 


t 


ANOTHER  RELIC  FOUND. 


24.'". 


and  after  a  bit  I'll  mubbe  get  all  mended  up,  and  tight 
again,  and  then  I'll  go  about,  an'  never  fear  ;  but  ef  'ee 
keeps  her  on  the  broken  side,  James,  afore  we've  patched 
her  and  stanched  her,  in  comes  the  sea,  James,  and  she'll 
go  down,  heavy  and  solid,  afore  'ee  can  make  land.  I 
mus'  n't  think  o'  they  oncertain  things — "  His  eyes  looked 
forth,  as  he  spoke,  open  and  broad,  like  another  sky ; — 
*'  but  ef  'ee  've  any  thing,  go  to  the  Pareson,  lovie — our 
Pareson, — an'  'e'll  hear  it ; "  and  so  James  Urston  spoke 
of  his  hope  no  more.    ^ 


246 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

MR.  BANGS    A    NEOPHYTE. 

^OW,  the  worthy  prie:t  of  Bay-Harbor,  having 
Mr.  Bangs  in  his  hands  to  be  converted,  felt,  or 
began  to  feel,  the  difficulties  of  that  relation.    To 
keep  up  dignity  and  authority,  to  convince  the  mind  and 
engage  the  heart  of  this  representative  of  the  great  Re- 
public, were  so  many  different  objects  in  one.     The  case 
was,  in  a  measure,  like  that  of  the  "  Angli  quasi  An- 
geli"  standing  for  sale  in  tlje  market  of  Rome,  whose 
beauty  led  Pope  Gregory  the   Great  to  undertake  the 
Christianizing  of  their  nation.     This  individual  American 
was  no  beauty,  certainly,  but  he  was  from  a  foreign  he- 
retical nation,  and  by  his  own  account,  scarce  any  of  his 
countrymen  knew  any  thing  of  the  true  faith.  Mr.  Bangs's 
account  was,  "  Th'  have  made  a  convert  'r  two.     S'pose 
ye've  seen  a  poor  f 'saken-lookin'  chickin,  pokin'  after  a  lot 
o'  pi — '  animals,  and  hangin'  on  to  'em,  fo'  company? 
Ye  want  somethin  a  little  mite  stronger."    Father  O'Toole 
was  convinced  that,  (as  P'ather  Nicholas  also  had  said,) 
the  opportunity  was  a  golden  one,  and  must  not  be  let  go. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  ecclesiastical  combatant,  finding 
himself  in  possession  of  such  a  prisoner,  who  had  been 
taken  "  nee  gladio,  nee  arcu"  (suo,) — by  no  weapon  of 
his  own — and  was  as  multitudinous,  in  his  activity,  as  the 


I 


MR.  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE. 


247 


I 


■ 


cotnjjsiny  of  men  whom  Father  O'Toole's  countryman 
once  took  by  surrounding  them,  felt  the  difficulty  of  main- 
taining the  authority  and  dignity,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
convincing  the  head  and  persuading  the  heart,  as  was  to 
be  done,  accoi-ding  to  the  programme  of  his  operations. 

Under  the  circumstances,  he  addressed  himself  to  his 
labor,  in  the  bravest  manner  possible. 

Mr.  Bangs,  whose  habits  and  principles  led  him  to  use 
time  as  it  went,  was  anxious  not  to  be  unoccupied  after 
entering  oipon  the  work  of  religious  conversion,  and  the 
quiet  old  man  was  therefore  likely  to  be  stirred  up  and  in- 
stigated in  a  way  very  unusual  to  him,  and  which  must 
worry  him  somewhat,  and  flurry  him  a  good  deal,  and 
give  him  many  solicitudes  most  unaccustomed.  The  pro- 
posed convert,  finding  the  priest's  way  of  proceeding  not 
so  methodical  and  business-like  as  it  might  be,  and,  at  tlie 
same  time,  being  assured  of  his  simple  and  kindly  nature, 
whose  only  relief  was  in  its  weaknesses,  took  upon  himself 
to  propose  that  he  should  take  a  regular  lesson,  at  certain 
times  each  day,  or  at  such  times  and  as  often  as  was  con- 
venient to  his  instructor,  of  whom,  meantime,  he  managed 
to  borrow  a  Douay  Bible. 

On  the  first  occasion  of  the  expected  convert's  appear- 
ance at  the  converter's  house,  the  next  morning  after 
making  the  arrangement,  the  latter  found,  at  tlie  very 
threshold,  a  reminder  of  the  solemn  work  begun,  and  of 
the  new  relations  existiiiff. 

The  knocking  at  the  door  was  answered,  after  some  de- 
lay, by  a  slow-moving  man — probably  fisherman— acting 
as  porter,  who,  opening  the  door  but  quarter-way,  stopp  d 
with  his  body  the  gap  through  which  Mr.  Bangs  was 
about  passing  along  with  the  first  rays  of  light,  and  hav- 
ing, by  fornial  question,  ascertained  from  the  visitor  that 


248 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


he  wished  to  see  the  very  Reverend  Father  O'Toole, 
first  showed  him  into  "  The  Library,"  with  some  awk- 
wardness and  much  gravity,  and  left  him  to  wait  until 
the  doorkeeper  had  found  out  whether  the  Father  was  at 
home,  and  whether  he  was  disenfrased. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Mr.  Bangs— the  manner  and  matter 
confusing  the  mind  of  the  occasional  domestic — "  not  to 
put  himself  out  one  mite  on  my  account.  'F  ha  hasn't 
prepared  'mself,  I  suppose  't  '11  keep."  The  speaker, 
while  saying  this,  combed  up  his  hair  from  each  side  to 
the  top  of  his  head,  with  a  small  implement  taken  from 
his  waistcoat-pocket,  and  seated  himself  with  legs  crossed 
and  foot  swinging,  opposite  the  door. 

On  receiving  the  announcement  that  Father  O'Toole 
expected  him  in  the  opposite  room,  Mr.  Bangs  rather  led 
than  followed  the  man  to  the  Reverend  Father's  presence. 
The  occupant  of  the  room  was  alone,  sitting  with  a  book 
in  his  hand,  himself  dressed  with  the  utmost  care  that  be 
ever  bestowed  on  the  adornment  of  his  person.  Thus  he 
sat  gravely  awaiting,  and  very  grave  and  dignified  was 
his  salutation  to  his  visitor. 

" '  Haven't  come  b'fore  ye're  ready,  I  hope,  Father 
O'Toole  ?  "  said  the  candidate  for  conversion,  unabashed, 
or,  at  any  rate,  not  remaining  abashed  by  the  formality. 
Then,  seating  himself  opposite  to  the  Priest,  with  his  hat 
beside  his  chair,  he  gave  that  gentleman  the  inspiriting 
intimation : — 

"  Now,  sir,  I'm  ready  f 'r  a  beginning,  and  you  can 
please  je'self  'bout  goin'  at  it."  So  he  cast  his  eyes  to 
the  ground,  and  sat  as  demure  as  possible,  though  not 
without  a  restlessness  of  the  body,  which  was  the  normal 
state  of  that  machine. 

The  ecclesiastic  fidgeted  in  his  dignity,  and  from  his 


MR,  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE. 


249 


not  beginning  at  once  with  the  "  lesson  "  agreed  upon,  it 
might  be  thought  that  his  plans  were  somewhat  discon- 
certed. 

"  It's  a  solemn  and  difficult  work,  entirely,"  began  our 
priest,  wher  he  did  begin  ;  "  a  very  solemn  and  very  diffi- 
cult work,  that  we're  entering  upon  the  extremity  of,  or 
the  borders  of."  At  this  point  he  stopped  and  recovered 
himself  hastily  with  the  question :  "  Did  ever  ye  meet 
with  a  book  called  '  The  \\  ay  to  become  a  Catholic  ?  '  " 

"  'Taln't  the  same  as  '  Way  to  be  Happy,  by  one  o' 
Three  Fools,'  I  guess,  is  it  ?  '  Never  read  it ;  but 't  used 
to  have  a  picture,  'n  th'  beginnin',  'f  a  woman  whippin' 
her  offspring.  I  alw's  said  'twa'n't  in  good  pr'portions ; 
wonian's  arm  's  too  long  for  her  figger.  Dono  's  ye  ever 
saw  it." 

This  little  ramble  of  his  disciple,  disconcerted  the 
teacher  again,  it  should  seem,  for  the  stream  of  instruction 
stopped,  and  he  began,  rather  nervously,  to  turn  the 
leaves  of  the  book  upon  his  lap.  Of  course  he  will  make 
a  new  assault.  This  he  does  as  follows — adapting  his 
method,  as  he  thought,  to  the  character  of  the  other's 
mind — "  Y'  are  aware  that  men  are  mortal ;  every  one 
knows  that." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  American,  heartily ;  "  '  All  men  are 
mortal.  Enumeration,  And,'  's  the  copy-book  used  t' 
say  'n  I's  a  shaver." 

"  Sure,  then,  it's  easy  saying  that  some  sins  are  mortal, 
too.     Therefore — " 

"  Adam  fell  in — 

To  mortal  sin,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion. "  'S  prepared  to  grant  that  proposition  b'fore  ye 
proved  it." 

"  Very  good,"  answered  the  reverend  reasoner,  warm- 


250 


TUK  NRW   PHIKST. 


ing  with  success,  "since  y'are  prepared  to  grant  what 
cannot  be  denied,  ye'U  be  prepared,  doubtless,  by  the 
same  rule,  to  deny  what  cannot  be  granted  ?  " 

If  the  triumphant  progress  of  his  argument,  in  its  for- 
mer steps,  was  (!ue,  as  it  i)robably  was,  to  a  happy  acci- 
dent, this  hist  must  have  been  one  of  the  deHberate  pieces 
of  his  plot,  as  he  had  thought  out  the  plan  of  it  befbre- 
liand. 

"  Wall,  dono  's  'ave  any  constitootional  objection  I 
"  Grant 't  all  men  are  mortal,  'course  I  deny  't  the  greatest 
man  'n  the  world,  wiiether  Vs  Tie-berius  Cffisar  Thomp- 
son—that's the  Ilon'able  Tieberius,  member  o'  Congress 
'n  District  1  hail  from,  or  Zabd'el  B.  Williams,  Chair- 
man o'  S'lectmen  o'  Needham,  or  the  Pope,  or  what  not, 
ain't  mortal." 

The  solid  floating  bulk  of  Father  O'Toole's  argument 
was  not  broken  up  by  this  little  obstructive  illustration ; 
nor  was  it  turned  aside. 

"The  Church  being  wan,"  he  continued,  " sure,  y'ave 
a  right  to  believe  that  it's  never  been  corrupted." 

Wall,  Yankees  are  noways  slow  't  assertin'  their 
rights,  ye  know.  Fact  is,  they're  ruther  inclined— wall, 
they're  dreadful  t'nacious,  's  ye  may  say." 

"  Well,  then,  don't  ye  see,  if  tlie  Church  has  never 
been  corrupted,  then  the  Pope's  the  Vicar  of  Christ  ?  I 
think  ye'll  easy  see  that,"  urged  the  Priest,  drawing  his 
argument  close.  Not  being  familiar  with  the  tone"  and 
dialect  of  Americans  of  Mr.  Bangs's  class,  he  very  likely 
did  not  readily  or  entirely  understand  him  ;  but  the  latter 
seemed  to  accept  the  arguments  urged  upon  him  cordially. 
This  was  Mr.  Bangs's  answer : 

"  Wall,  fact,  it  is  'bout 's  easy  reasonin'  's  ever  I  heard. 
'R'member  a  fullah  named  Tim ." 


Mil.  BANGS  A  NKOPHYTE. 


251 


**  That's  a  very  good  Irish  name,  then,"  said  the  Priest, 
who  was  in  excellent  spirits. 

"  Tirnhiu^too  Meldrum,  's  name  was.  Wall,  'a  I  w'g 
saying,  we  used  to  nrgiie  't  a  debatin'  s'ciety  we  had,  out 
't  Net'dham,  and  he  proved  ye  couldn't  'xpect  'nlight'ti' 
ment  '«'  civilization  from  colored  folks,  p'ty  miich  like 
this :  '  Don't  all  hist'ry  show  that  heathens  and  savigia 
wuslii[)  idols  'n'  images,  and  b'lievt'  'n  charms  'n'  am'let-s 
'n'  beads,  'n'  all  kinds  o'  blessed  things  ?  Tlu  n  I  say  it's 
as  chiar  's  the  sun  'n  the  canopy,  't  ye  can't  educate  a 
nigg(?r.' " 

"Does  the  sun  be  in  a  canopy,  then,  in  Amerikya?" 
inquired  the  Priest,  with  a  zeal  for  science  that  would  be 
found,  no  doubt,  to  exist  generally  in  the  human  race,  if 
a  trial  w(!re  but  fairly  made,  "  and  what  sort  's  it,  then, 
clouds?  or  fire?  or  what?" 

"  Wall,  sir,  'taint  made  o'  silk  or  satin.  So  ye  think 
the  Church,— that's  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic  Church, 
'course, — hasn't  ben  c'rupted,  do  ye?" 

"  Sure,  I  think  we  may  say  we've  proved  that  once,  well 
enough,  anny  way,"  said  the  Priest,  whose  easy  progi-ess 
had  given  ium  great  confidence,  even  with  a  strange  sub- 
ject, like  Mr.  Bangs. 

"  Wall,  ye've  proved  it  one  way,  fact.  'S'pose  we've 
got  to  grant  't's  ben  altered  a  mite  or  two,  'n  the  way  'f 
iniprovin'  'n'  growin'  bfitter,  haven't  we  ?  'Strikes  me  we 
don't  hear  so  much  's  we  might,  'n  ScriptUr,  'bout  the 
Holy  Father,  the  Pope  ;  and  Scriptur's  ruther  mum  on 
subject  'f  Indulgences  and  Purgatory.  Dono's  't  any- 
wher's  recommends  usin'  graven  images  and  pictures  to 
help  devotion  ;  and  then  it's  kind  o'  backward — seems  to 
hang  fire — 'bout  wushippin'  Virgin  Mary ." 

Here  the  worthy  priest  began  to  prick  up  his  ears  a 


252 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


little,  as  if  he  had  mistaken  his  man  ;  but  he  had  not 
time  fairly  to  get  rid  of  his  happy  state  of  satisfaction  in 
himself  and  his  convert,  before  he  was  reassured  by  the 
latter  going  on,  in  his  own  way,  to  a  more  satisfactory 
ending  than  his  sentence  had  promised.  The  ending  was 
thus : — 

"  'S  you  say,  these  things  are  all  real  patterns  o'  truth ; 
all  is,  I  leave  't  to  any  body  to  say  whether  't  don't  seem 
'a  if  they  didn't  know  's  much,  when  Scriptur  'a  written, 
'a  they  do  now." 

"  Ye'Il  allow,"  said  the  Priest,  trying  a  little  more  ar- 
gument, just  to  finish  the  thing  up,  "  God  has  more  ways 
than  wan,  mostly  ?  Well,  then,  in  this  present  case,  th' 
other's  traddition,  and  it's  as  good  as  Scripture  itself;  do 
ye  see  that?" 

"  'N'  then,  's  that  great  text,  here,  f '  Purgytory,  'n  the 
References,— Matthoo  Fifth,  Twenty-sixth,— why,  't's  as 
pat 's  butter.  I  guess,  to  this  day,  ye  don't  take  'em  out, 
t'll  somVdys  paid  the  utmost  farthin\  Come  t'  hitch  tra- 
dition on,  too,  'n'  ye  can  prove  'most  any  thing,  's  clear  's 
starch,  's  the  woman  said." 

"  Ah !  then,  I  was  fearful  of  ye,  a  while  ago,  that  ye 
might  have  got  some  o'  the  Protestant  notions  into  ye, 
that  they  talk  about  corruptions ;  but  here's  something, 
then,  I'd  like  ye  to  consider,  just  by  way  of  exam- 
ple :  Supposing  ye  were  disposed  to  hold  an  argument, 
which  y'are  not,  ye'd  say  the  Church  was  pure  at  the 
beginning,  and  corrupt  after ;  now  if  it  was  pure  at  the 
first,  and  corrupt  after,  what  way  was  it  those  corruptions 
came  in,  just  ?  Can  anny  Protestant  answer  that  question 
at  all  ?  " 

The  position  in  which  the  reverend  arguer  seemed  to 
feel  himself,  was  that  of  having  his  hold  fast  upon  his 


MR.  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE. 


258 


convert,  and  being  able  to  deal  thoroughly  and  leisurely 
wiih  him.     Mr.  Bangs  answered— 

"  Way  r  hcjird  that  qiieMtion,  put  b'  your  friend,  Fa- 
ther Nicholas,  there,  t'other  day,  's  this:  ('t  had  a  tail  a 
little  mite  different—)  «  Tf  religion  was  pure  at  Jirst,  'n' 
b'come  corrupted,  'mist  have  ben  a  time  when  corruptiona 
come.  Now  can  any  body  put  his  finger  on  the  time  when 
they  come  ? '  'Struck  me  's  bein'  a  p'ty  'cute  question  'n 
I  heard  it." 

"  Ay,  that's  the  very  thing,  in  other  words  ;  it  was  th' 
other  way,  then,  meself  was  giving  it  to  ye,  just  to  put  a 
bit  more  force  in  it,"  answered  the  Priest. 

"  'T  may  be  'nother  view  o'  the  same  thing,"  said  his 
pupil.  "  'Bout  's  much  like  's  two  sides  'f  a  flounder, 
there  'n  Charles  River  Bridge,  fact." 

Whether  Mr.  Bangs  was  or  was  not  aware,  that  the 
two  sides  of  a  flounder,  which  ought  to  correspond,  are 
strangely  different,— one  being  white  and  the  other  black, 
one  having  two  eyes  and  the  other  none, — Father  Ter- 
ence accepted  the  illustration  triumphantly. 

"Ay,  or  anny  where  else!"  said  he.  "Can  anny 
man  living  tell  what  time  these  corruptions  came  in  they 
talk  so  much  about?     Not  wan  or  all  o'  them  can  do 

it?" 

"  Case  'n  point,"  said  Mr.  Bangs :  "  Casty  Divy  Sci- 
enshy,  ye  know,  't  I  told  ye  'bout.  Father  O'Toole,  '3 
blind  o'  one  eye,  (she's  pleggy  well  off,  though,  and  had  's 
many  sparks  's  a  cat  in  cold  weather,— 'fact,  they  joked 
me  'bout  her  once.)  Wall,  's  I's  sayin',  one  eye  's  blind 
's  a  beetle ;  'twa'n't  al'a's  so,  't's  grown  so— ('t  must  be 
one  o'  these  beetles  th'  have  f '  knockin'  in  wedges,  f 'r 
insects  ain't  blind,— natch'l  hist'ry  'd  tell  'em  that ;)  wall, 
I  guess  Casty  Divy  'd  find  it  pleggy  hard  to  tell  when 


2r)4 


THE  NEW  PRIKST. 


that  blindness  come  ;  thfit  is,  time  o'  day,  day  o'  th'  week 
day  o'  tir  month,  'n'  so  on." 

"There  it  is,  now,"  said  the  Priest;  "she  can't  tell 
what  time  it  came ;  and  can  anny  wan  o'  tliem  tell  what 
time  these  corruptions  came,  IM  like  to  know." 

"  'F  I's  goin'  to  answer  that  'n  the  affirmative,  I  sh'd 
say  the's  few  men  c'd  keep  up  'th  ye  'a  an  argument.  I 
s'|K)se  the  way  changes  come  'bout,  's  p'ty  much  I'k'  this : 
say  yo've  got  a  junk  o'  pure  ice,  in  water  'taint  altogether 
clean ;  wall,  bymby  ye  come  to  give  a  look  at  it,  and 
half  'f  it,  or  two  thirds  'f  it  say,  's  gone  into  water;  't's 
made  cleaner  water,  but  'taint  ice  any  more.  'T'd  puzzle 
the  old  fox  himself,  I  guess,  to  tell  when  that  b'gan  to 

come  'bout.     Or,  take  'n'  slew  the  figger  right  round 

here's  water,  say,  and  ye  'xpose  it  to  temperature  o' 
frezin',— that's  32  Fahrenheit,— 'f  it's  a  little  mite  warm, 
't'll  be  all  the  better  f '  the  'xperiment,—shavin'- water  '11 
do ;— wall,  go  'n'  take  a  look  't  that,  after  a  spell,  'n'  ye'll 
Hnd  'twunt  look  's  if  the  cold  'd  done  any  thin'  to  it;  but 
jest  stick  yer  finger,  or,  'f  ye  don't  want  to  put  your  fin 
ger,  put  a  stick  in,  and  I  guess  ye'll  find  it  all  cuslush  ; 
't  'taint,  I've  misst  a  figger,  that's  all." 

How  this  illustration  supported  the  "  argument "  of  the 
worthy  converter,  it  was  not  easy  for  Father  O'TooIe  to 
see,  and  he  answered  as  follows— rather  kindly  passing 
by  it,  as  the  work  of  an  obtuse  but  well-intentioned  mind, 
than  rebuking  it  as  the  suggestion  of  a  hostile  one  :— 

"  It's  a  very  disagree'ble  and  tadious  process,  then,  that 
melting  and  freezing ;  and  it's  not  often  i  tried  it.  I  pre- 
fer having  my  shaving-watter  warm,  towards  having  it 
cold,  the  way  ye  speak  of.  I'll  be  going  on,  now,  to  give 
>e  instruction  in  a  few  points  o'  the  Catholic  Faith.  The 
Pope's  th'  entire  head  o'  Christendom— that's  taken  for 


MR.  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE. 


255 


granted  ;  I  think  ye  were  satisfied  with  the  proof  I  gave 
ye  on  that  point." 

"  Oh,  yea,  Father  O'Toole,  'don't  need  'ny  more  proof. 
T's  only  'stonishln'  t'  my  mind,  t'  find  a  man  I'k'  Father 
Dobree,  there,  akickin'  over  th'  traces,  'th  all  that  proof." 

"  An'  what  traces  is  he  kickinfr  over,  then  ?  "  inquired 
the  Priest.  "I  didn't  hear  of  his  kicking  over  anny 
thing."  The  lesson  was  suspended,  and  the  book  was 
(inadvertently)  shut. 

"  Wall,  he's  a  pleggy  smart  fuUah,  b'  all  accounts. 
'Didn't  know  b't  what  he'd  got  a  little  mite  agee  'pon 
some  poinl.^.  'Glad  to  hear  he  .-,  all  right.  'S'pose  'twas 
only  't  he  got  ruther  put  out  'th  the  Prot'stants  f '  makin' 
such  a  fuss,  'n'  'cusing  the  Cath'lics  o'  carryin'  off  Miss 
Barberry,  there.      They  say  't's  t'other  way." 

"  And  who's  carried  her  off,  then  ? "  asked  Father 
O'Toole,  with  some  warmth. 

"  /  sh'd  like  to  see  'em  prove  't  she  is  carried  off," 
said  Mr.  Bangs.  "  'Guess  'f  'twas  Father  Nicholas  man- 
aged it,  't'll  take  more  gumpshion  'n  they've  got,  to  find  't 
out." 

"And  what's  about  Father  Nicholas?"  asked  the 
worthy  old  Priest. 

"  Wall,  'f  'tvvan't  f 'r  his  bein'  under  you,  'guess  folks  'd 
say  he'd  had  his  finger  in  it ;  but  how  'd  he  go  'n'  do 
any  thing  'thout  your  tellin'  him  ?  'n'  nobody  'd  think  o' 
suspectin'  you,  Father  O'Toole.  B't 's  you's  sayin,  'bout 
those  sacrymu.jts ." 

The  good  Priest  was  discomposed,  and  had  lost  his 
place  in  the  book.  The  American's  assurance  of  the 
general  confidence  in  his  supremacy  over  his  assistant, 
may  have  helped  to  restore  his  equanimity.  Presently, 
in  his  good-natured  way,  he  began  again : — 


256 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"  Well,  then,  there  are  seven  Sacraments.  YeVe  been 
taught  two,  I  suppose." 

"'Don't  undertake  to  determine  that  point,  Aou;  many 
we  had.  Seven  's  a  good  number  for  you  to  have,  and  I 
guess  ye  can  prove  it 's  well 's  any  thing  else.  Sh'd  like 
fo  have  the  proof." 

"  Those  Protestants  want  the  proof  from  Holy  Scrip- 
ture, mostly.  We'll  go  to  the  Holy  Scripture,  now.  First, 
How  many  days  was  it  the  Almighty  God  created  the 
heavens  and  the  earth  ?  " 

"  Seven.  That  does  come  pleggy  near,  fact,"  said  Mr. 
Bangr!. 

"  Ah !  and  isn't  it  exactly,  then,  it  is  ?  What's  the  dif- 
ference betwixt  seven  and  seven  ?  Well,  then,  you  see 
it  in  the  days  o'  the  week  itself.  Seven  's  a  sacred  num- 
ber. Seven  Orders  there  are,  and  seven  Sacraments,  the 
same  way ;  is  that  clear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  that's  's  clear  's  glass  in  'n  'clipse  o'  the  sun, 
*s  the  man  said." 

"  Then,  Order,  Baptism,  Confirmation,  Eucharist,  Pen- 
ance, Extreme  Unction,  Matrimony  's  seven.  Baptism 
gives  righteousness,  and  faith  and  the  like  ;  and  Con- 
firmation strengthens  all,  again  ;  and  then  the  Holy  Eu- 
charist " 

«  That's  what  ye  have  for  the  Lord's  Supper,  I  s'pose. 
Mass,  I  guess  ye  call  it,"  said  Mr.  Bangs. 

"  Indeed,  y'are  very  right.  It's  the  Unbloody  Sacrifice, 
also.  Ye've  heard  some  o'  those  things  the  Protestants 
speak  against  the  truth,  about  transubstantiation ;  but 
when  ye  think,  once,  isn't  God  almighty  ?  I  think  the 
like  of  you,— a  man  that's  in  the  right  way,— wouldn't 
find  any  difficulty  at  all,  in  that.  He  says,  '  This  is  my 
Body,— hoc  est  corpus  meim;  literally ;  and  it  must  be, 
literally,  his  body." 


MR.  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE. 


257 


"  I  want  to  know  the  whole  o'  that,"  said  the  American 
"  I  heard  two  fullahs  arguing  t'other  day,  Catholic  and 
Protestant.  Catholic  said  p'ty  much  's  you've  said,  ju^-t 
now,  Latin  ('f  'tis  Latin)  'n'  ail ;  'n'  then  the  other  man 
said,  '  Look  ahere  ;  when  the  Lord  fus'  said  that.  He  had 
His  body  on  Him  ;  now  the  bread,  't  He  said  't  of,  wa'n't 
a  piece  o'  that  body ;  'n'  if  't  wa'n't,  then  't  wa'n't  His 
literal  body,— ('f  that's  what  ye  call  it.)— That's  what 
the  man  said." 

"And  do  you  think,  was  he  the  first  man  ever  said 
that  ?  no,  nor  won't  be  the  last  ayther,  so  long  as  the 
Devil  's  in  the  world.  That's  what  I'm  saying  ;  ye  can 
answer  that  this  way :  '  God's  word  is  true,  and  Himself 's 
almighty,  and  so,  where's  the  trouble  of  Him  making  it 
what  He  says  ? '  Doesn't  He  make  all  things  ?  and  how 
does  He  make  them?  Isn't  it  by  His  word?"  This 
was  said  with  real  solemnity  and  dignity. 

"  That's  what  I  want,"  said  Mr.  Bangs.     « I  want  a* 
real  good  answer,  'n  case  I  meet  him  again.     He'll  say 

*t's  'genst  the  senses  " 

"And  are  the  senses  to  be  trusted  in  a  miracle,  I'd 
like  to  know  ?  "  inquired  the  Priest,  with  great  animation 
and  spirit. 

"  Wh'  /  take  it,  the  senses  'r'  the  only  things  't  is  a 
mirycle  to,— that  is,  't's  what  the  man  'd  say,"  said  Mr. 
Bangs  ;  "  he'd  say  't's  meant  for  the  senses,  I'k'  the  wine 
at  the  marriage,  there  " 

"  I'm  thinking  its  more  than  once  you're  speaking  with 
that  man  ;  but  isn't  it  the  greater  faith  to  believe  against 
every  sense  and  all  senses  ?"  asked  the  Priest,  putting  a 
deep  question. 

"Wall,  that's  a  home-thrust,  's  ye  may  say.  Don' 
b'lieve  the  fullah  'd  answer  that,  'f  he  sh'd  try  t'U  's  head 
come  off." 

VOL.  I.  17 


258 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"And  'twas  with  the  Scripture,  I  did  it,  too,  that 
they  re  always  crying  out  for,"  said  the  Priest,  compla^ 
cently.  ^ 

"  Wall,  the's  a  good  many  fellahs  take  'n'  go  by  Serin- 

T:  ^?!  T,;V"^'''^^-     ''''^'  -'^'t  one  orem't  takes 
th  ben  fit  o'  th'  'nsolvent  Act,  't  don't  git  a  good  house  'n' 
property  f  life  ;_Vordin'  to  Scripcher  'bout  ^Juilin^  V 
9^mn    rnt    everlastin^    habitations:    s'pose    they'd    say. 
The  s  a  man  wanted  t'  git  a  lot  o'  money  t'  put  up  s'm' 
bu.ldms,-great    pr'fessor,    too,_took    'n'   borrowed    all 
round,  „  then  he  failed,  f 'r  ever-so-many  thousand  dol- 
lars,  (guess  twas  two  hunderd  thousand,)  'n',  come  t'look 
imo  .t,  he  hadn't  got  'ny  money  to  pay,  'n^  one  mortgage 
pdod  atop  'f  nother,  'n'  no  doin'  anj  thing,-'said  the 
buildms  u^re  n  ornament  t'  th'  town;  and  he'd  gone  on 
n  faith,  n  he  didn't  know  'ny  better,  'n'  what-not,-knoo 
"0"gh  not  to  lose  any  thing  himself,  though  ;-wall,  a 
friend   f  his,  when  the'  come  to  see  nobody  'd  git  any 
thmg,  says   to   him,  '  Look-a-here !      'Thought  you's  a 
pr  fessor  ;  don't  the  Bible  say,  Owe  no  man  any  thina^' 
So  says  he,  '  I  don^t  owe  any  man ;  'took  'n'  borrowed  't 
all  o  widows  'n'  orphans.'_He  wanted   it  set  down  on 
his  head-stone,  't  he  w's  'providential  instr'ment  f '  puttin' 
up  those  buildins."  ^ 

"See  the  badness  o'  private  judgment,  now,  tow'rds 
having  the  judgment  o'  the  Church  ! "  said  Father 
U  loole. 

"  Wall,  that  kind  o'  private  judgment  ain't  wuth  much, 
1  guess.  Common  sense  ain't  private  judgment ;  'fact  't's 
the  common  judgment  o'  the  Whole.  'Guess  private 
judgment  's  'bout  's  good  's  any,  'f  ^t  sticks  to  common 
sense.  Church  wouldn't  be  much,  'thout  that,  I  guess  - 
s  I  was  sayin',~'bout  that  text,  there,  '  My  Body ; '  'taint 


MR.  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE. 


259 


the  look,  no'  the  smell,  no'  the  taste,  no'  the  feel,  no'  the 
heft ;  but  't's  it. 

"'S  a  woman  'n  our  town,— ('taint  the  man,  this  time,) 
—name  's  Peggy  Mansur,— 't  any  rate  't's  what  th'  uset 
to  call  her,— guod-natured,  poor,  shiftless  soul,— never  did 
'ny  harm  ;   uset   t'  take  'n  everlastin'  sight  o'  snuff,— 
Mac— guess  'twas    Scotch   snuff,  come  to  think ;— wall, 
she  b'lieved  p'ty  much  's  this  Bible  says,  here,"  (taking 
his  Douay  out  of  his  hat,)  '"bout  Peter,  'n  Matthew,  six- 
teenth, eighteenth,  'w  a  note  H  the  bottom,  't  says  'same  's 
if  He'd  said,  'n  En-lish, '  Thou  art  a  rock  ; '  on'y  she  went 
on  'n'  b'lieved  't  Peter  was  a  rock,  cause  the  Lord  said 
so,  'n'  He's  almighty.    A  fullah  said  to  her,  '  Look  a-here  ; 
do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  could  'a'  set  to  work  on  him 
'n'  hammered  'n'  hacked  'n'  what  not,  and  made  part  'f  a 
meetin'-house  out  of  him  ? '      '  Why,  no,  I  guess  I  don't,' 
s's  she.     '  I  don't  mean  't  he  looked  so,  'r'  acted  so ;  but 

I  mean  't  he  wus  so.'     '  Wall,'  s's  the  man  " 

"I  thought  I  hard  ye  saying  it  wasn't  the  man  it  was, 
this  time,"  interposed  the  Priest,  as  the  familiar  sound 
occun-ed  in  Mr.  Bangs's  story. 

The  interrupted  story-teller  smiled  and  knit  his  brows 
slightly  closer,  and  looking  still  to  the  left  of  the  object  to 
whom  he  addressed  himself,  explained  :— 

"  Oh  !  This  's  away  out  'n  Mass'chusetts,  'n  the  States, 
this  was.  W  II.  they  spoke  up,  'n'  says  to  her,  s'd  they, 
*  Why,  look  a-here,  aunty,  Wus't  his  skin,  't  was  rock  ? ' 
so  s's  she,  '  I  guess  not.'  '  Wall,  wus't  his  flesh  ? '  '  Guess 
not,'  s's  she.  '  Wus't  his  blood  ? '  '  Ruthei  guess  not,' 
s's  she.  '  Wus't  his  cords  ? '  '  Guess  not.'  '  Wall,  was't 
his  stomuch  ? '  '  C.  jess  not.'  '  Wus't  his  brains  ?  '  '  Gue^s 
not.'  Finally,  she  guessed  't  wa'n't  's  eyes,  nor 's  ears,  nor 
's  nose,  'n  I  dono  what  all ;  and  finally  they  come  to  ask 


260 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


Y 'twas  his  bones,  'n'  she  didn't  know  but  't  might  he's 
bones  But  s's  they,  « Aunty,  bones  ain't  a  man,  and  't 
looks  Ik  pleggy  small  p'taters,  to  come  down  t'  that.  You 
said  the  hull  man's  rock,  when  ye  b'gan  'th  him.  '  Wall '  s's 
she,  '  I  say  so,  now.'     '  Then  you  don't  say  't  's  his  bones 

^  Wall,  s  s  they,  '  Look  a-here,  if  twa'n't  'ny  part  'f  him, 
t  wus  rock,  'n'  you  say  th'  man  's  rock,  what  wus  the'  o' 
rock    bout  th'  man  ?'     ^  Why,  't's  the  man  himself,' 
s's  she."  ' 

"Wall,  I  tell  ye,  Father  O'Toole,  the'  wa'n't  one  o'  the 
whole  boodle  'f 'em  c'd  answer  that;  'n  she  shovelled  th' 
snuff  nto  her  nose,  I'k'  a  dam  breakin'  away,  'n  kep'  a 
laughm',  Cll  she  got  tired.' 

Mr.  Bangs's  illustrations  were  all  of  the  most  left- 
handed  sort,  that  did  not  at  all  explain  or  enforce  the 
thmgs  they  were  brought  to  illustrate  ;  but  rather  the 
contrary.  The  Priest  saw  this,  and  answered,  with  a 
view  to  it. 

"  Y'are  not  accustomed,  it's  likely,  to  discussions  of  the 
sort,— I  mane  if  your  mind  is  just  drawing  the  way  ye 
said  It  was.  I'm  thinking  it  wanders,  a  little,  just  now ; 
maybe  it's  better  we  leave  off  now,  for  it's  my  opinion 
ye  ve  got  just  about  as  much  as  ye  can  cleverly  bear. 
One  thing  I'd  like  to  know  :  Are  ye  desiring  to  be  con- 
verted, as  I  understood  ye  were  ?  " 

"  My  wishes  haven't  changed  one  mite,  sir,"  said  the 
American. 

"  I  think  ye'il  do,  for  a  bit,  with  the  teaching  ye've  had. 
Its  important  to  make  an  impression  upon  ye  with  the 
solemnities  of  religion,  for  it's  a  great  hold  they  fake  upon 
a  man,  and,  though  I  speak  it  with  reverence,  it's  my  sol- 
emn opinion  there's  few  pl.,>rs  where  ye'd  be  like  to  get 


MR.  BANGS  A  NEOPHYTE, 


261 


a  stronger  impression  upon  ye  than  just  in  my  own 
church,  though  there's  larger  in  the  country,  doubtless, 
and  finer,  in  some  unimportant  particulars ;  but  I'll  take 
ye  to  high  mass,  on  Sunday  next. — (the  day's  Wednes- 
day,)— and  I  think  ye'll  be  struck  with  surprise  and  de- 
votion, all  at  wance,  if  ye  give  yer  mind  to  i* 

"  Jesso,"  said  Mr.  Bangs,  bowing  his  head  at  the  same 
time.  "  'Want  to  see  the  real  thing.  Have  hoard  H  aint 
alw's  what  't  should  be  ;— that  is,  'n  the  fixins,  I  mean  ;— 
holy  candles  and  what  not.  'Tell  me  the'  don't  have  real 
candles,  but  things  t'  look  like  'em.  'Taint  so  'th  you, 
'course.  Wh'  I  know  a  lot  'f  's  good  candles  's  any  'n  the 
universe,  f '  next  to  nothing."    ^o  Mr.  Bangs  departed. 


262 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


chaptp:r  XXIX. 

MISS    DAKE'S    EXPEDITION    WITH   AN    ESCORT. 

I ISS  Dare  had  made  an  appointment  with  Mr. 
Naughton,  for  a  ride  to  Baj-Harbor,  and  he  set 
himself  immediately  about  securing  a  steed  for 
h.s  own  use  on  the  occasion,  Agamemnon,  (Dunk,)  his  own 
hor.e  being  lame.    The  Minister's  he  did  not  quite  like  to 
borrow.     Mr.  O'Rourke  sent  word,  in  answer  to  a  verbal 
request,  that  *'  he  would  as  soon  take  Mr.  Naughton  on 
his  own  back,  as  lend  his  horse ;  "  and  the  exigency  was 
met,  at  length,  by  the  engagement  of  Jemmy  Fitz-Sim- 
mons's  white  pony,  whose  regular  rate  of  rentage  was 
one  dollar  (five  shillings,  currency,)  a  day,  and  who  cer- 
tainly made  an  honest  day's  work  of  it,  (that  is,  .pent  a 
fa.r  working-day,  or  rather  more  about   it,)   when  em- 
ployed to  go  eight  miles  in  one  direction,  or  ten  in  the 
other. 

Mr.  Naughton  mounted,  ^he  creature  bringing  round 
his  great  white  head  and  rubbing  it,  with  a  strong  up- 
ward jeik,  agamst  the  whole  side  of  the  future  eques- 
ti.an's  clothes,  on  which  this  salutation  left  a  greasy  soil. 
That  the  animal's  toilette  had  not  been  neglected,  was 
evident,  from  the  marks  of  the  curry-comb  imprinted 
durably  in  the  discolored  and  highly-scented  fur  of  one 


MISS  DARE'S  EXPEDITION  WITH  AN  ESCORT.    263 

Bide  of  him,  which  fur  answered  to  the  adhesive  material 
in  which  it  was  mixed,  much  the  same  purpose  that  cow's 
hair  is  employed  for  in  mortar. 

"  He  didn't  look  so  good  as  he  felt,"  was  the  owner's 
assurance,  who  knew  him  best ;  and,  having  assisted  at 
the  mounting,  the  owner  discreetly  took  himself  away. 

As  the  little  beast  had  an  inconvenient  way  of  sidliu'^ 
up  to  any  other  quadruped  who  might  be  near  enough  for 
him  to  practise  that  manoeuvre  upon,  the  attempt  was  soon 
made  to  keep  him  in  advance ;   but  here  he  was  so  effec- 
tual an  obstructive,  getting  always  across  the  way,  that  the 
attempt  to  follow  his  leading  was  not  kept  up  with  that 
persistence  with  which  men  tie  themselves  to  the  lead  of 
conservative  (whig)  statesmen,  or  submit  to  the  blocking 
of  a   privileged   "governing   class,"   as   the   scandalous 
phrase  now  goes  in  England ;  the  spirited  horsewoman, 
with  a  dexterous  cut  of  her  whip,  at  the  right  time,  took 
the  place  which  belongs  of  property  to  the  competent. 

Now,  with  a  horse  like  Miss  Dare's  (which  was  a  good 

one)   in  advance,  it  must  be  a  matter  of  compromise 

if  the  two  companions   were   to   keep    company.      Mr. 

Naughton,  did,  it  may  fairly  be  supposed,  his  best.     He 

stuck  his  spurs  into  the  pony's  side ;  but  from  the  effect 

produced  it  might  be  doubted  whether  the  little  beast  had 

not  the  power  of  drawing  in  his  nerves  from  the  surface 

of  his   body,  as  a  turtle  draws  in  his  claws.     The  rider 

procured  a  serviceable  stick,  to  cooperate  with  his  spurs, 

as  a  fleet  combines  operations  with  a  land  army ;  but  the 

potnmelling  that  he  was  obliged  to  bestow  to  produce  a 

short-lived  mitigation  of  the  vis  inertice  in   which    the 

creature  moved,  seemed  so  cruel,  that  he  could  not  do 

justice  to  that  method,  by  faithful  practise  of  it.     At 

times  the  pony  cantered  for  five  successive  paces,  but 


2G4 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


the  amount,  of  progression  secured  in  this  way,  was  much 
what  a  tJjhle  (brfore  these  days  of  table-tipping,  of 
course,)  could  be  made  to  accomplish  by  having  its  two 
legs  at  each  end,  alternately  lifted  and  put  down  upon 


the  ground. 


Our  horsewoman,  accordingly,  could  hardly  help  get- 
ting nearly  out  of  sight  now  and  then,  though  she  waited 
duly  for  her  escort,  at  convenient  distances ;  occupying 
the  interval  for  the  iirjt  part  of  the  way  between  Peter- 
port  Riverhead  and  Castle-Bay,  with  short  visits  at  the 
doors  of  two  or  three  houses,  whose  inmates  she  knew  as 
being  in  the  habit  of  bringing  eggs  or  poultry,  or  some 
such  little  wares,  to  her  uncle's,  for  sale. 

Mr.  Naughton  had  attempted  conversation,  most  zeal- 
ously, according  to  his  slender  opportunities  ;  he  had 
remarked  upon  the  pleasant  woodland  smell,  as  they  went 
along  the  way  skirted  with  trees,  where  the  young  birches 
had  come  out  beyond  the  limits  of  the  little  forest,  like 
children  playing  at  a  short  safe  distance  in  front  of  their 
homes.  Again, — after  an  interval, — on  the  summit  of  the 
hill,  in  Castle-Bay,  whose  side  is  precipitous  to  the  water, 
and  down  the  face  of  which  the  road  goes  as  steeply, 
almost,  as  a  waterfall,  (or  as  Whitmonday  Hill,  in  Peter- 
port,)  he  had  spoken  of  the  lovely  landscape,  in  which  the 
breadth  of  Conception -Bay  makes  so  great  a  part.  Miss 
Dare's  bright  eye  was  not  only  open  to  all  beauties  of 
nature,  but  had  found  them  out  long  ago,  and  grown 
familiar  with  them,  and  saw  in  them  what  nothing  but  a 
quick  eye,  practised,  could  have  seen  ;  and  Mr.  Naugh- 
ton, as  they  paused,  for  a  breathing-space,  at  this  look-out, 
forgot  his  steed,  and  the  difficulties  of  horsemanship ; 
for  with  all  his  ecclesiology  and  fuss  about  tapers  and 
altar-cloths,  he  had  had  his  heart  flashed  into  before  now, 


MISS  DARE'S    EXPEDITION  WITH  AN  ESCORT.  265 

by  burning  eyes,  and  had  not  been  regardless  of  becoming, 
dress.     There  was  his   fair  companion,  with  the  flush  of 
exercise   in   her  cheek ;  her  veil  flowing  out  upon  the 
wind  ;  her  hair  slightly  disengaged  ;  her  white  forehead 
looking  as  unapproachable  as  one  of  the  cliffs  that  hang 
over  the  sea  in  the  British  Channel ;  and  her  eyes,  with  a 
liquid  lustre  floating  through  them,  like  that  which  might 
roll  its  tide  of  light  about  in  the  fabled  caves  of  the  sea. 
Just  now,  as  gazing  more  thoughtfully  than  usual,  or, 
rather,  more  silently  (for  she  always  had  thought  enough) 
on  the  de«ip,  she  sat  with  lovely  ease  and  grace,  upon  her 
horse,  he  might  have  felt  as  if  a  very  special  moment  had 
come.      There  she  was,  all  relieved  against  the  sheer 
sky ;  and  her  lips,  that  had  said  so  many  witty  and  pretty 
things,  silent. 

"Miss  Dare,"  he  said,  seizing  the  occasion. 
«  Beautiful !  "  said  she,  finishing  with  her  landscape ; 
and  then,  as  she  turned  to  him,  «  Why,  what  solemn  ex- 
ordium  is  that,  Mr.  Naughton  ?  Are  you  going  to  decline 
going  any  further?  Let's  both  get  off  and  walk  down 
this  hill,  and  take  a  new  start  down  there  at  the  turn  of 
the  road.    Shall  we  ?  " 

Mr.  Naughton's  mind  was  surrounded  and  hindered 
by  the  building-materials,  out  of  which  he  was  putting 
together  that  slowest  and  hardest  of  constructions  which 
men  make  of  words  with  very  little  cement,  and  he  could 
riot,  therefore,  instantly  get  out  of  them  ;  accordingly, 
1  iough  this  proposal  was  a  welcome  one,  as  walking  down 
the  hill  together  would  give  him  so  much  more  of  her 
society,  yet  she  had  dismounted,  easily,  before  he  was 
ready  to  ask  for  her  horse's  bridle-rein.  He  was  not 
long,  however,  for  his  distance  to  the  ground  was  very 
moderate,  and  his  heart  was  vigorous. 


266 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"  Don't  you  recollect  the  dog  in  the  fable,"  she  asked, 
"that  had  a  piece  of  meat,  but  lost  it,  jumping  for 
another  ?  " 

The  gentleman  had  in  his  mind  something  a  great  deal 
more  appropriate  to  the  present  occasion  than  that  fable, 
(of  which  he  did  not  see  the  exact  reference,  at  such  a 
moment ;)  he  had  what  must  be  said,  or  the  time  for  it 
would  have  gone  by.  It  was  a  quotation ;  and  as  he 
went  down,  leading  her  horse,  he  got  it  forth. 

"  Ah !  Miss  Fanny,  do  you  remembor  those  lines  of 
Burns :  *  We've  climbed  life's  hill  together  ? ' " 

" Not  quite  that ;  but  a  good  deal  like  it;  'thegither* 
is  the  real  Scottish ; — but  do  please  attend  to  my  fable, 
Mr.  Magistrate,  if  you  expect  us  to  go  down  this  hill, 
thegither;  look  t«  your  Arabian  courser,  or  you'll  lose 
him." 

Now,  though  it  will  never  do  to  let  one's  self  get  into  a 
ludicrous  or  awkward  position  in  the  eyes  of  a  lady 
whom  he  values,  yet  there  are  different  ways  of  escaping 
that  ill-luck;  sometimes  by  overbearing  and  putting  down 
circumstances ;  sometimes  by  giving  way  to  iiiid  following 
them  ;  sometimes  by  taking  dexterous  advantage  of  them 
and  turning  them  to  account.  Mr.  Naughton's  wit  was  in 
a  sharpened  state;  he  saw  at  once  that  he  might  just  as 
well  cast  off  his  quotation  and  abandon  it  to  the  waters 
of  oblivion  ;  as  to  his  horse,  the  creature  wouldn't  go, 
with  all  the  appliances  that  he  could  bring  to  bear  upon 
him,  and  could  be  recovered  in  half  a  minute. 

"  You'd  better  leave  me  Brutus,"  said  Miss  Dare,  as 
the  gentleman  turned  up  the  hill,  holding  her  horse's 
rein ;  "  I'll  give  him  back  to  you,  when  you've  got  Fitz- 
Simmons."  "  Very  good ; "  answered  Mr.  Naughton  with 
a  few  hasty  steps  getting  up  with  the  pony.     The  little 


Hi 


.. 


. 


MISS  DARE'S  EXPEDITION  WITH  AN  ESCORT.   267 

beast  was  cropping  such  grass  as  the  top  of  that  pic- 
turesque hill  sustained.  lie  did  not  look  round,  or  take 
his  teeth  off  his  food,  but  he  quietly  turned  towards  his 
late  rider  a  part  of  his  body  which  wore  no  bridle,  and 
was  unoccupied  in  eating. 

Grecians  and  Romans  often  made  great  work  of  U 
when  they  fought,  with  their  wives,  and  mothers,  and 
beloved  maidens  looking  on;  but  here  was  a  fortress  t<? 
be  charged  that  could  turn  faster  and  better  than  a 
wmdmill,  and  bring  a  pair  of  ugly  heels  to  the  defence. 

"He'll  stand  on  his  dignity  now,  after  all  that's  been 
said  and  done  to  him,  like  the  boy  in  Wednesbury  church, 
that  stopped  the  bellows,  to  show  what  part  in  the  music 
he  played,"  said  the  maiden,  spectator  of  the  contest  of 
agihty  and  skill,  then  and  there  going  on. 
^  "  Woa  !  "  cried  Mr.  Naughton,  in  a  soothing  and  con- 
cihatory  tone,  perfectly  fair  in  war,  and  trying  to  get  up 
beside  the  pony;  but  as  the  moon  turns  one  face  to  the 
earth  continually,  and  not  another,  so  Jemmy  Fitz  Sim- 
mons's  h-ttle  horse  seemed  to  follow  the  same  laws  of 
gravitation,  offering  always  to  the  nobler  animal  the  self- 
same  part. 

Mr.  Naughton  strove  to  settle  this  method  of  argument 
by  a  hearty  thwack,  which  was  very  fairly  administered. 
This  manoeuvre,  like  a  shake  of  a  kaleidoscope,  brought 
about  a  new  disposition  of  the  pieces  making  our  figure : 
the  horse,  snatching  up  his  head,  whiried  round  on  his 
hind  feet  and  began  to  go— not  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected of  a  shrewd  little  fellow,  that   had  often   been 
through  the  same  simple  process  of  reasoning  upon  that 
point,  towards  home— in  which  direction  grass  was  just  as 
cheap  and  good  at  the  wayside,  and  every  step  was  away 
from  a  journey,— but  down  hill,  though  keeping  the  side 


268 


THK  NEW  rUIEST. 


nonr  the  ganlen-rod  fence.      Mr.  Naughton,  with  dignity, 
kept  the  I'oad  n  htthi  behind. 

Wlien  the  beast  reached,  as  he  soon  did,  a  phiec  where 
the  road,  being  cut  down,  h'fl  himself  on  the  top  of  a 
bank,  ho  then  turned  round  abruptly,  and  got  hinisolf 
beyond  his  pursuer  in  the  other  direction. 

Anyone  who  has  been  through  this  process  of  catching 
a  slow-footed  horse,  with  predilections  for  pasture,  can 
fancy  the  further  progress  of  the  pursuer  and  pursued. 
The  pony  enacU'd  to  the  best  of  his  ability  the  part  of 
the  pretty  little  butterfly,  leading  on  and  eluding  the  boy; 
but  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill  frotn  Miss  Dare,  several 
circumstances  turned  to  the  help  of  Mr.  Naughton ;  he 
had  left  his  dignity  behind,  within  the  yomig  lady's  sight, 
and,  moreover,  the  road  backward  lay  through  the  flakes, 
on  which  the  women  were  already  turning  and  spreading 
the  fish,  and  while  their  b(Mng  there  took  some  nimble- 
nesa  from  his  limbs,  it  also  secured  as  many  feet  and 
hands  as  were  needed  for  his  purpose.  The  pony  was 
at  length  caught  on  the  beach,  undtu-  a  Hake,  with  his 
face  magnanimously  towards  the  deep,  and  his  left  ankle 
hobbljd  with  his  bridle-rein,  which  he  either  could  not  or 
would  not  break.  80  he  was  recovered ;  but  what  time 
and  possible  opportunities  had  been  lost !  Mr.  ISaughton 
broke  his  substantial  stick,  not  as  an  oflicial  breaks  his 
staff  of  office,  having  no  farther  use  for  it,  but  in  actual 
discharge  of  authority  upon  the  offender. 

Miss  Dare  was  not  where  he  had  left  her:  having 
laughed  heartily  at  the  begiimiug  and  first  steps  of  the 
chale,  she  had  gently  descend(!d  the  hill ;  had  leisurely 
mounted  at  a  rock  by  the  roadside,  and  was  waiting  at 
the  little  bridge  (or  perhaps  it  was  a  ford  then)  before 
you  get  to  the  long  hill,  down  which  comes  now  a  later 


( 


( 


MISS  DARE'S  KXPKDITTON  WITfl   AN  KHCORT.    2G9 

way,  and  a  less  Ht(!0[)  one,  than  that  which  alono  crosHcd 
it  in  that  <hiy. 

Tho  v'u'w  is  a  vory  fair  ono  as  you  jjot  to  the  hi|i;he9t 
h^vei  h(!lw<!(!n  ('asth'-liay  and  Hay-IIarhor.  Uf)()n  the 
h'f\,  in  th(!  dii('(!ti<»n  of  the  liarreiis,  th(!  eye  eateiieH  th(! 
sheen  of  more  thiin  one  inland  hike,  and  on  (he  ii^r|,t 
hand  and  h«(for<5  you  Hes  hir^M)  and  f,'rand  the  Hay,  with 
Ii}j[htly-wooded  upH  and  downs  hetweer; — sonuitimeH  ab- 
ru|)t  contrasts  of  height  and  hollow, — which  are  very 
j)ictnr<is(|ue. 

The  air  on  this  bright  day  was  clear  and  exhilaniting, 
and  Miss  Dan!  and  Ikt  horse  alikcj  fianid  it  dilhciult  to 
accointnodale   tlnMnselves  to  the  tardy  pace  of  "  Kit/-,"  an 
Mr.  Naughton's  {'oiirser  was  I)y  this  time  called.     Tho 
gallant  genlhiuian  who  IxjHtrode  this   lagging  Kt<'ed,  felt 
the  awkwardness  of  his  position,  but  could  not  makcj  it 
any  better.    After  a  violent  ex(!rtion  of  one  arm  and  hand, 
and  both  higs  a>i<l  f(!et,  to  whicdi  the  pony  was  an  un- 
willing party,  tin;  eflect  produced  was  mu(!h  as  if  he  had 
been  working  a  rude  electrical  machine;  a  nervous  force 
was  gerierated,  which  spent  itself  in   three  and  a  half 
spasmodic,  cantering  sto[)s  of  the  quadru|)ed.     This  dis- 
play of  Hcic^nlidc  manipulation,  the  horseman  hcHitatfid  to 
exhibit  before  the  unapi)reciative  iidiabitants  of  cfu-taio 
dwellings,  that  began  to  a[>pear  in   tin;  neighborhood  of 
the  Riverhead  of  Bay- Harbor,  and  ^till  more  in  pres<'nce 
of  the  more  frequent  houses  that  frontcid  tht!  ro  nl  from 
that  place  onward,  and  therefore  the  latter  half  of  the 
way  from  Castle-Hay  was  traversed  with  more  leisurely 
dignity  than  the  former. 

"You  lefl  off  at  'climbed  life's  hill  Miegilher,'"  said 
Miss  Dare,  prompting  her  companion  in  hia  unfinished 
part. 


270 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"Ah  !  yes,  and  I  was  going— if  I  hadn't " 

—"'been  interrupted,'"  she  supphed,  "to  the  Romar 
Catholic  Mission  at  Bay-Harbor." 

Even  in  the  midst  of  an  apparent  preoccupation  of 
mind,  Mr.  Naughton  was  astonished. 

"  Yes,  and  on  your  business  too.  You  remember  how 
Deborah  took  Barak,  son  of  Abinoam,  with  her,  and  how 
Sis^'-.-,  was  delivered  'into  the  hand  of  a  woman?'" 

.lether  by  the  suggestion  of  the  last  five  words,  or, 
however  prompted,  Mr.  Naughton's  interest  even  in  the 
strange  object  of  Miss  Dare's  visit  to  Bay-Harbor,  was 
diverted  to  an  object  of  his  own. 

There  was  one  occult  part  of  that  Bay- Harbor  road, 
with  a  bank  to  the  left,  and  a  fence  and  some  firs  to  the 
right,  a  bend  in  front  and  a  descent  behind,  where  Mr. 
Naughton  began  to  check  his  steed  with  the  voice,  and 
the  steed  began  to  stop. 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  to  Fitz-Araby  now,  Mr. 
Magistrate?"  inquired  Miss  Dare,  reining  up  and  turn- 
ing her  horse  about ;  «  has  he  dropped  one  of  his  legs,  at 
last,  in  practising  that  very  skilful  pace  ?  " 

Mr.  Naughton  answered  only  indirectly,  by  repeating 
his  request  to  his  pony,  soothingly, — 

"  Wo-o !  wo-o  !  wo— o ! "  and  stimulating  him  with  his 
armed  heels,  looking,  moreover,  down  towards  the  pony's 
left  forefoot,  assiduously. 

In  addition  to  the  dilated  monosyllable  which  had 
been  hitherto  applied  to  Fitz  and  counteracted  by  the 
spurs,  the  horseman  must  have  drawn  upon  the  bridle, 
for  before  coming  up  with  the  larger  beast,  the  lesser 
stood  still.  The  spurs  were  still  actively  employed,  but 
with  the  rein  exerted  against  them  were  inefficient  to 
produce  motion,  and  rather  fastened  the  feet  with  intense 


I' 


I 


I) 


) 


MISS  DARE'S  EXPEDITION   WITE  AN  ESCORT.     271 

tenacity  to  the  ground.  Miss  Dare  witnessed  every  thing 
with  a  smile.  Mr.  Naughton's  mind  was  not  at  all  fet- 
tered and  kept  down  to  the  circumstances  by  which  it 
was  temporarily  surrounded,  for  he  found  his  voice  and 
spoke  out  of  the  midst  of  them,  without  any  reference  to 
Fitz,  or  rein,  or  spur. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  he,  "  if  I  could  dare  to  hope  that  you 
would  be  persuaded  to  make  the  journey  of  life  with  me. 

Miss  Dare  " 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Naught- n,  of  course  not,"  she  said; 
"shall  we  go  on  to  Bay-  rbor?  We  shall  be  compan- 
ions so  far,  and  back,  if  you  please." 

He  loosed  his  tightened  rein,  applied,  sadly,  his  stick 
and  spurs,  and  in  sadness  which  he  could  not  hide,  went 
forward.  The  answer  was  perhaps  just  the  one  best 
adapted  to  his  case ;  but  it  did  not  take  its  specific  effect 
immediately. 

Father  Terence  was  at  home,  and  kind  and  courteous 
as  usual.  Miss  Dare  told  him  directly,  that  she  wished 
his  permission  to  ask  a  question  at  the  Nunnery  about 
the  missing  girl ;  and  he  wrote  a  note, — taking  h's  time 
to  it, — in  which,  as  she  requested, — he  introduced  her, 
without  mentioning  the  object  of  her  visit.  He  under- 
took the  entertainment  of  Mr,  Naughton,  who  was  very 
grave  and  agitated,  and  whom,  therefore,  the  kind-hearted 
man  mistook  for  the  father  of  the  maiden,  and  tried  to 
occupy  about  other  things. 

When  Miss  Dare  came  back  from  her  interview  with 
the  nun,  she  found  P'ather  Terence  showing  Mr.  Naughton 
as  heartily  and  hospitably  over  "the  grounds,"  as  if 
there  were  a  thousand  acres  of  them,  all  waving  with 
grain  or  larger  growth,  or  carpeted  with  green  herbs. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  potato-garden,  in   dimensions 


272 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


about  forty  feet  by  sixty,  and  as  stony  almost  as  a  maca- 
damized  road,  and  a  little  patch  of  potato-onions,  of  which 
the  worthy  Priest  was  rather  proud ;  thf^re  was  a  pigsty 
grunting,  and  squelching,  and  squeeling,  ,h  pigs"  of 
every  size  ;  and  there  were  flocks  of  geese,  and  turkeys, 
and  ducks,  and  hens,  and  chickens,  whi(^h  certainly  gave 
a  very  cheerful  and  comfortable  look  to  the  premises,\nd 
wai-ranted  the  proprietor's  eloquence,  which  the  young 
lady  overheard  as  she  drew  near. 

Father  Terence,  having  learned,  in  answer  to  his  ques- 
tion, that  she  had  not  found  the  missing  girl,  and  had 
been  informed  that  she  was  not  with  the  nuns,  met  the 
information  with  a  very  emphatic 

"How  would  they  have  her  then?  or  would  any 
Christians  act  that  way  ?  " 

Miss  Dare  did  not  repeat  to  the  Priest  what  she  had 
said  to  the  nun,  and  the  kind-hearted  man  went  on  to  say 
that  he  was  glad  she  had  come  straight  down  and  satis- 
fied herself,  for  "people  often  took  up  notions  that  were 
not  the  thing  at  all,  and  Catholics  were  not  all  thfit 
bad  that  some  Protestants  thought  them ; »  an  assertion 
which,  nobody  who  knew  or  even  saw  the  speaker,  would 
think  of  doubting.  Miss  Dare  assented  to  it,  cordially ; 
Mr.  Naughton,  (who  was  very  grave  and  silent,)  with 
less  animation  than  might  have  been  expected. 

The  young  lady  was  anxious  to  get  away,  and  the  old 
man,  with  a  courtesy  that  was  well-becoming  to  his  years 
and  character,  escorted  his  guests  towards  the  gate. 

"  I  guess  'f  any  b'dy  was  goin'  t'  out  'p  a  caper  o'  that 
sort,  he'd  leave  Father  O'Toole  out,"  said  a  voice  behind 
them,  easily  recognized  by  any  one  who  had  heard  it  be- 
fore. Mr.  Naughton  had  heard  it  before  ;  and  his  gravity 
became  rather  grim,  as  he  walked  on  regardless.     Miss 


i 


MISS  DARE'S  EXPEDITION  WITH  AN  ESCORT.    273 


i 


Dare  turned  round,  but  o  speaker  was  in  sight,  though 
The  top  of  a  hat  was  to  be  seen  behind  the  fence,  as  if 
the  occupier  were  sitting  there,  much  at  home. 

"  It's  a  merchant  from  Amerikya  that's  inquiring  into 
the  Catholic  faith,"  said  Father  Terence,  by  way  of  ex- 
planation. 

"  Wall,  'm  beginnin'  to  see  through  it,  now,  I  b'lieve," 
said  the  mercantile  scholar  from  over  the  sea,  whose  ears 
seemed  to  be  good. 

"  Ye'U  think  better  o'  the  Catholics  after  finding  out 
this  mistake,"  the  Priest  said,  as  he  saw  his  visitors  off. 

Fitz-Simmons's  pony  might  have  been  expected  to  go 
home  at  a  much  better  rate  than  that  whicii  he  had 
maintained  during  the  ride  to  Bay-Harbor ;  but  as  if  to 
convince  his  rider  that  it  was  not  mere  attachment  to 
home  that  possessed  his  legs,  he  paced  the  street  of  the 
town  much  as  he  had  paced  it  an  hour  ago.  The  magis- 
trate, however,  was  anotlnir  man  ;  hi  stick  was  rnore 
effective;  hi^  spurs  struck  more  sharply;  and  as  Miss 
Dare,  occupied  with  her  thoughts,  kept  a  very  moderate 
gait,  the  young  lady  and  her  escort  ware  not  far  asunder. 

She  tried  to  draw  out  her  companion,  as  they  rode 
along,  but  he  was  moody ;  and  conversation  was  very  un- 
equally carried  on.  She  dismissed  aim  at  her  uncle's 
gate ;  and, — when  he  'vas  out  of  sight, — went  down  to 
the  Minister's ;  but  the  Minister  was  not  at  home  :  — 


m 


VOL.  I. 


18 


■Ik 


274 


THE  NEW  PBIEST. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


ACROSS    THE    BARRENS. 


/^jg;)OR,  on  the  day  before,  intelligence  had  come  to 
414.  him,  and  this  day,  with  Gilpin  and  Billy  Bow, 
^iHS  and  Jesse  in  his  company,  (the  latter  leaving  Isaac 
Malien  m  charge  of  the  funeral  arrangements,)  the  Min- 
ister ha.i  iJlowed  its  leading.  His  dog,  like  Tobit's,  fol- 
lowed him. 

It  was  an  unsubstantial  and  broken  story :  that  a  man, 
going  across  the  Barrens  to  Tnnity  Bay  on  the  evening 
of  Lucy's  disappearance,  had  seen  a  young  woman  in 
white  clothes  at  about  a  cjuarter  of  a  mile's  distance  be- 
fore him,  going  towards  New-Harbor ;  and,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  next  day,  she,  or  a  like  person,  had  been  seen 
at  the  Cove  near  New-Harbor. 

This  story  did  not  agree  with  received  theory;  nor 
was  it  easily  reconciled  with  known  facts ;  but  perhaps  it 
could  be  reconciled  with  both  theory  and  facts ;  and  it 
was  worth  folio  wins:. 

The  little  •  nets  that  spiders  spread  were  bright  with 
dew,  and  so  were  the  leaves  of  the  sheep's  laurel  and  other 
shrubs,  and  all  the  air  was  clear  as  air  could  be.  It  was 
not  yet  the  time  for  sunrise,  and  our  party  left  the  sun  to 
rise  behind  them,  as  they  set  forth  eagerly  from  the  place 
of  meeting,  which  was  at  Dick  McFinn's,  where  the  road 


ACROSS   THE   BARRENS. 


275 


through  the  woods  and  across  the  Barrens  leaves  Castle- 
Bay  for  New-Harbor. 

McFinn  «  had  heard  nothing,"  he  said,  "  but  a  small 
sketch,  just,  that  was  passed  about  from  wan  to  another, 
in  a  manner,  all  round  the  Bay ;  he  could  not  say  was  it 
true  or  no." 

Just  as  they  were  leaving  the  place  to  follow  the  cross- 
road to  the  Barrens,  Gilpin,  whose  eye  was  very  quick, 
and  never  idle,  called  the  Minister's  attention  to  the  road 
over  which  they  had  lately  come. 

«  There's  that  noo  priest.  Father  Ignatius,  as  they  calls 
un,"  said  he.     "  There's  something  wrong  with  un." 

Mr.  Wellon  looktid  towards  the  Priest,  who  seemed  to 
be  walking  slowly  and  thoughtfully;  but  who  was  so 
far  off  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  detect  the  expression 
of  his  face. 

"This  young  Mr.  Urston,"  continued  Gilpin,  "says 
there's  a  quarrel  between  Father  Nicholas  (they  calls  un) 
and  this  priest.  Father  Debree  charges  un  wi'  carrying 
off  Skipper  George's  daughter,  he  thinks ;  and  he  says 
they  weren't  too  good  friends  before.— I  thinks  he's  too  en- 
lightened for  'em,  or  he  wouldn't  trouble  himself  about  it." 

"  He  might  not  apnrove  of  man-stealing,  even  if  he 
believed  all  their  docdines,"  said  Mr.  Wellon,  smiling, 
and  setting  forward. 

"The  old  priest  mayn't;  but  there  isn't  many  like 
him.— Do  you  think  this  Father  Debree  used  to  be  a 
Protestant,  sir  ? " 

"He  may  have  been,"  said  the  Minister;  «I  don't 
know." 

"  So  they  says  ;  and  his  father  used  to  be  a  high  man 
in  St.  John's.  He  hasn't  met  the  lady,  Mrs.  Berry,, 
since,  from  what  I  hears." 


278 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


"  You  keep  a  pretty  sharp  look-out  for  your  neighbors' 
doings,"  said  Mr.  Wellon. 

"  I've  got  into  the  way  of  it,  I  suppose  ;  but  he  might 
do  her  a  good  turn  now,  relation,  or  no  relation.  You 
heard  these  stories  they  got  up  about  her,  sir  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  know  only  what  her  letters  from  England  say 
of  her,  and  what  she  has  told  me  herself.  If  you  hear 
any  thing  against  Mrs.  Barre,  of  any  sort,  you  may  con- 
tradict it  on  my  authority ;  she's  a  lady  of  the  very  high- 
est character." 

"  Nobody  '11  believe  it  except  the  Eomans,  sir ;  and 
there's  just  where  he  ought  to  stop  it,  and  might,  if  he 
would.     We  can  kill  it  among  Protestants  fast  enough." 

— There  is  no  house,  unless  of  beasts  or  birds,  be- 
tween McFinn's  and  the  other  side. 

So  up  the  hill  and  through  the  woods, — where  the 
trees  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  height  look  prematurely 
old  with  the  long  moss  clinging  to  them, — our  party 
went,  at  a  strong,  steady  pace,  and  speculating  among 
themselves,  from  time  to  time,  of  the  lost  maiden's  fate. 

Occasionally  a  bird  started,  before  or  beside  them,  and, 
once  or  twice,  Jesse,  who  bore,  beside  his  parcel  contain- 
ing food,  a  huge  king's-arm,  fired  off, — gravely  and 
sadly, — his  cumbrous  piece  in  the  direction  of  the  little 
fugitives,  with  no  result  unless  to  inspire  confidence  ia 
the  feathered  inhabitants  of  the  woods  that  weapons  of 
that  sort  were  rather  used  for  pleasure  than  to  do  mis- 
chief with  ;  and  to  give  the  marksman  himself  occasion  to 
philosophize  on  "  the  toughness  the>  birds  got  with  livun 
wild,"  as  if  they  had  received  the  whole  charge  of  shot 
unharmed. 

It  is  about  six  miles  through  these  woods  before  get- 
ting to  the  wilderness,  between  them  and  those  upon  the 


ACROSS   THE   BARRENS. 


277 


other  side,  bordering  Trinity  Bay.  The  wind  was  going 
upon  its  errand,  in  the  same  directioa  with  themselves ; 
it  may  have  heard,  somewhere,  of  Lucy. 

About  mid-way,  they  met  a  man  coming  from  the  other 
side  over  to  Conception  Bay,  and  as  he  had  some  slight 
acquaintance  with  our  smith,  the  two  fell  easily  into  con- 
versation. This  man  nad  heard  of  the  lost  girl,  and  of 
the  person  seen  upon  the  other  side ;  and  he  had  heard 
what  they  had  not  yet  heard,  that,  at  this  very  moment, 
a  sick  girl,  answering  to  their  description,  was  lying  in  a 
house  over  at  the  Cove, — two  miles  or  so  from  New- 
Harbor.  He  thought  her  friends  knew  of  it,  but  some- 
thing hindered  them  from  coming  over. 

"  That's  a  droll  story,"  said  Gilpin,  as  he  turned  away 
from  his  Trini'.y-Bay  acquaintance.     '<I  don't  think  it 
would  be  long  that  we'd  have  sat  still,  thinking  about  it, 
after  we'd  heard  of  it.     Once,  would  have  been  enough 
T  think." 

Little  likelihood  as  there  seemed  in  the  story,  the  Min- 
ister was  not  inclined  to  dismiss  it  summarily ;  he  thought 
it  possible  that  it  had  been  taken  for  granted,  as  it  often 
is  in  sickness,  that  intelligence  had  been  carried,  or  had 
found  its  way  to  those  wJio  ought  to  know.  Ke  said  "  it 
was  not  very  likely,  but  it  was  possible,  and  that  was  a 
good  deal." 

Jesse  seized  on  the  story  instantly,  as  one  which  grati- 
fied the  appetite  for  something  rather  marvellous,  and 
therefore  seemed  to  him  more  probable  than  any  simpler 
and  more  common-place  solution  of  a  strange  and  myste- 
rious affair.  Will  Frank  said,  "there  had  bin  amany 
strange  things  in  this  world  ;  it  was  a  strange  thing  that 
Lucy  was  not  to  be  heard  or  sid,  all  of  a  sudden  ;  and 
another  strange   thing,   like    what    the  Trinity- B'y-man 


278 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


had  just  atold,  might  be  true,  too.  He  couldn'  take  it 
upon  himself  to  saj  it  wasn',  surely."  The  constable 
thought  "  there  w  tis  a  better  road  leading  to  where  she 
was  than  any  in  the  Barrens;"  but  all  went  forward 
faster  than  before,  to  be  resolved  about  this  story. 

They  reach  the  wi,.)ds  upon  the  other  side,  toil  through 
them,  and  come  out  upon  the  pretty  shore  and  water  of 
New-Harbor.  A  scluKiner  was  lying  near  a  stage  in 
front  of  Mr.  Oldhame's  premises,  to  the  right ;  and  there 
was  a  vessel  of  some  size  upon  the  ways,  nearly  ready 
for  launching.  From  this  last,  the  sound  of  caulkers' 
hammers,  though  not  so  fast  and  frequent  as  in  some 
countries,  came  frequent;  and  towards  that  point,  our 
party  turned  their  steps. 

They  found  the  merchant  overseeing  operations  at  the 
new  schooner,  and  ready  to  enter  into  their  business, 
but  unable  to  giv(i  any  information.  He  said  that  he 
had  not  been  able  to  hear  any  thing  at  all  definite  ;  that, 
certainly,  a  person  might  go  through  a  place,  and  there 
might  be  no  more  trace  left  of  him  than  of  the  way  of  a 
bird  through  the  air,  as  the  Bible  said ;  but  as  to  proof 
that  could  be  depended  upon,  of  any  one's  having  seen 
any  such  girl  as  was  described,  he  did  not  believe  there 
was  any. 

The  latest  information  which  they  had  rece' .  ed, — that 
whicii  had  met  them,  namely,  in  the  way, — had  but  dis- 
couraging reception  here  :  Mr.  Oldhame  said  that  he  had 
daily  communication  with  the  Cove,  and  many  times  a 
day ;  and,  if  there  had  really  been  any  such  person  lying 
sick  there,  he  must  have  heard  of  it.  However,  to  make 
all  sure,  it  was  only  necessary  to  ask  among  half  a  dozen 
men,  from  that  place,  who  were  at  work  upon  the 
schooner. 


ACROSS  THE  BARRENS. 


279 


These  mcMi,  alas,  kiuiw  only  of  old  Mrs.  Ayles,  who 

had  been  bed-ridden  for  three  v(!ard,  that  could  be  called 

A 
sick,  amon;'f  their  neighbors;  they  hud  heard  that  a  girl 

from  Coiitt'ption  Hay  had  been  sick  in  New-Harbor,  and 

that  her  fri<'nds  had  come  and  got  her  home. 

So,  among  them  all,  then,  this  down  of  fleeting,  unsub- 
aiantial  ho})e  was  blown  from  one  to  another,  and  seemed 
scarce  worth  the  following.     Vain  chase  ! 

If  it  could  have  been  narrowed  down  to  this  spot,  and 
the  roads  or  paths  that  lead  from  it,  there  would  have 
been  some  •  1  toward  which  to  work,  Ui  d  limits  to  their 
labor ;  but  if  there  should  be  nothing  to  connect  the  miss- 
ing one  with  this  place,  then  th<  whole  waste,  a  little  way 
from  them,  or,  rather,  the  whole  world,  wu:^  open  again ; 
and  the  world  is  wide. 

The  merchant  offered,  heartily,  to  go  about  with  thera 
and  make  inquiries  ;  and  so  he  did.  They  went  about  in 
vain.  They  stood  on  the  giound  of  the  little  mist,  that,  at 
first,  and  afar,  had  something  the  look  of  substance.  If 
there  were  any  thing  in  it,  at  least  they  could  not  find  it. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  after  refreshment 
at  the  hospitable  Mr.  Oldhame's,  they  started  to  go  home ; 
and  as  they  trode,  again,  the  same  road  through  the 
woods,  toward  the  wide,  weary  Barrens,  the  way  seemed 
wearier  than  before. 

Mr.  Wellon,  who  followed,  was  going  thoughtfully  up 
the  side  of  the  first  "  gulch,"  when  he  was  suddenly  over- 
taken and  addressed  by  a  man,  whom,  en  turning  round, 
he  saw  to  be  Ladford. 

"  Why !  what  brings  you  over  here  ?  "  asked  the  Min- 
ister. 

"  Same  that  drives  a  good  many  away  from  home  : — 
fear ! "  said  the  former  smuggler.     "  It  wouldn't  do  for 


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280 


THE  NEW  PRIEST. 


me  to  come  before  the  Justice,  right  or  wrong.— It'll 
blow  past  in  a  day  or  two.— But,  Mr.  Wellon,  1  know 
where  Skipper  George's  daughter  is  !     I  thought  it  might 
be :  now,  I  know  it,—l  must  tell  it  fast— O'  Monday 
night,  between  nine  and  ten,  by  the  moon,  I  was  over 
beyond  the  priests'  place,  there,  at  Bay-Harbor,  looking 
at   the   back  of  that   building   they  say  is  a  nunnery. 
J  here  was  a  light  burning  in  one  particular  room,  with 
just  a  white  curtain  down  against  the  window.     I  was 
just  thinking:  'there  are  no  gratings  on  the  window; 
but  It  seems  to  me,  if  I  could  only  once  see  into  that 
room,  I  should  see  where   Lucy  Barbury  was   kept.' 
Exactly  at  that  very  word,  as  the  thought  came  into  my 
mmd,  there  was  a  sort  of  stir  in  the  room,  and  the  light 
veered,  and  there  was  a  shadow  on  the  curtain.     I  could 
see  more  than  one  woman,— in  their  nun's  dress,  I  sup- 
pose It  was;— and  then  there  was  a  picture  painted  on 
that  curtain,  as  clear  as  the  lines  of  a  cliff  in  the  lir^htnin^  • 
there  was  a  woman  this  side  and  t'other,  and  in  ''the  mid- 
die  was  Lucy  Barbury,  just  as  plain  as  that  fir-tree." 
"  What !     Are  you  sure  of  your  senses .?  " 
"They've  had  thirty-six  years  of  pretty  good  practice," 
said  the  smuggler.-"  No,  sir ;  there's  no  mistake  :  I  see 
a  thing,  when  I  see  it.     It  was  as  if  they'd  taken  her  out 
of  bed,  and  had  her  in  their  arms;  and  there  was  her 
face— just  the  side  of  it-and  the  bend  of  her  neck,  and 
her  hps  open,  as  I've  seen  her  for  hours  and  hours,  take 
It  altogether,  when  I've  sat  and  heard  her  read.     The 
back  of  the  house,  and  where  I  wa..,  was  pitch-dark ;  for 
the  moon  was  afront,  scarce  rising;  it  couldn't  have  been 
plainer,  and  I  wasn't  a  stone's  throw  off.     It  didn't  last 
half  a  minute,  perhaps,  but  it  laste-l  long  enough  ;  and 
then  I  was  startled,  and  came  away.     I've  never  told 


ACROSS  THE   BARRENS.  ^81 

.  ^Hring  s„„I,_„„t  ,he  men  that  wer«  with  me  that 

round    nth/T         "''''™"-"     ^'^  ^"^'"S'  ''»  '"""l 
Semt  1  I  t'""  °'   ^''y-Harbor,  while  he  «as 

It  f ..       J"^-     ^''™    '"™'"S  '<-    ^-dford,   with   the 
It  .t>  '  '""  •"""  "'^  ''"^' '"  -^»^'  "  ^"at  ni^ht 

"Monday  night,  dr.     1  tried  to  see  you  that  ni»ht  and 
aga,„  yesterfay  morning,  and  to^ay  I  sen.  a  letter'- 

I  m  glad  no  one  knows  it,"  said  Mr.  Wellon  •  "  we 

must  work  silently,  and  when  we're  ready,  finish  suddenly- 

My  secrets  are  pretty  safe  with  me,"  said  the  pL 

smuggler,  smiling  sadly,  «if  i  „,,,,'^  ,„  ^^^ 

"It  will  he  Ume  enough  for  this,  when  we  must  have 
evidence,"  said  the  clergyman. 
^H^wfar  do  you  think  my  stoty  would  go?"  asked 

itP?  '"""^  ■'  '"""  '■^  S»«d  in  law.     You  can  swear  to 

"Ay,  sir:  hut  my  story?"  asked  Ladford  again  with 
a  long  emphasis  on  the  possessive  pronoun.    "  Wbla^ 
I  to  swear?    What  court  could  I  testify  in?  or  wh^ 
magtstrate  could  I  go  before,  to  make  my  affidavit?" 
1  ne  question  of  your  credibility " 

nel^r'  ''' '  "^,^"^^!^«"  of  my  credibility.  Let  me  come 
near  a  court  of  justice,  or  even  let  it  be  known  that  I 
could  testify,  and  there'll  be  some  one  to  ge^  n^.e 
round  my  neck,  that  I  can't  slip.  I  ought  I  be  Tne 
now^r.  Wellon  ;  Gilpin  would  have  to  take  me."  ^  ' 
We  must  take  care  of  that,"  said  Mr.  WeUon.  "I 
won  t  bnng  you  into  danger." 


282 


THE  NEW  PEIEST. 


"  If  I  could  save  a  life  that's  worth  so  much  more  than 
mine— and  George  Barbury's  daughter,"— the  smuggler 
answered ;  «if  it  waa  even  by  dangling  in  the  air,  like  u 
reef.point;--but  I  ^H.uldn't  throw  away  life  for  nothing, 
and  least  of  all.  just  when  I've  set  about  using  it  to  som"e 
good." 

There  was  nothing  base  in  the  poor  man's  look,  as  Mr. 
Wellon  now  saw  him;  but  to  the  Minister's  eye,  there 
stood  within  that  worthless  raiment,  and  in  the  subject  of 
that  sad  history,  one  for  whom  the  world  would  be  no 
equal  ransom,  and  about  whom,  even  now,  there  was 
melodious,  joyful  converse  in  the  streets  of  that  city, 
where  "  there  is  joy  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth." 

Neither  the  constable  nor  any  of  the  party  turned 
back;  and  Mr.  Wellon  finished  his  short  communication 
with  Ladfbrd,  uninterrupted.  It  was  not  until  they  got 
near  the  knoll  towards  the  other  side  of  the  Barrens,  that 
he  communicated  to  Gilpin  the  information  he  had  re- 
ceived.   Skipper  Charlie  expressed  no  surprise  at  hearing 

of  Ladford's  whereabouts,  but  said -of  his  news, 

"  Well,  he's  been  away  for  some  good ;  that  puts  us  on 
the  old  track  again,  sir." 


i  more  than 
e  smuggler 
e  air,  like  u 
for  nothing, 
?  it  to  some 


ook,  as  Mr. 
eye,  there 
i  subject  of 
ould  be  no 
there  was 
that   city, 
teth." 
rty  turned 
munication 
11  they  got 
irrens,  that 
le  had  re- 
at  hearing 


puts  us  ou 


